


All the Days of My Life

by Marlon



Series: Storm Passes Away [7]
Category: Brooklyn (2015), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Gift Giving, M/M, holiday romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-23
Updated: 2018-02-19
Packaged: 2019-03-08 10:02:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13455927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marlon/pseuds/Marlon
Summary: Jim and Ben celebrate Christmas in Enniscorthy. They have two weeks to themselves with nothing to do but cuddle in bed, decorate the house, attend parties, and make some life-changing decisions. Just your typical holiday season.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Well, here it is, a very Brooklyn Christmas! And only a month overdue! Please enjoy the sweet domesticity of Jim and Ben's Christmas holidays. Many thank yous go out to AtlinMerrick for her excellent advice and comments, and to Chrisdoof for being the first reader, as always :) I couldn't have done it without you both!

When Jim was small, his mother always told him that if he kept his eyes sharp and his heart wide open, he’d find treasure in the most unexpected of places. For a time, he thought perhaps that meant keeping a watchful eye for fairies that may have taken up residence in the back garden. Later, he decided she must have meant to keep his eyes and heart open to the wonders of the every day - swimming at Curracloe with his friends in the summer, that rare snowy winter in Enniscorthy, the joy of a brand new fiddle. For one dark period, he stopped believing entirely, there was no treasure to be had, not for him, he wasn’t that lucky. Now that he’s older and has some perspective, he’s certain she meant that the treasure was some combination of the three - it was one part believing that magic and miracles were still possible in the world, one part embracing the everyday mundane, and that even the dark times had their purpose, and if you could somehow hold all of that in your heart, you might find something truly special.

Putting the kettle on, Jim smiles up at the ceiling as Ben’s footsteps rap sharply across the wooden floorboards while he prepares himself for another school day. The heels of his oxfords ring staccato-sharp as he moves between the bureau and the wardrobe and then down the hall to the washroom. Jim is just setting out the sugar bowl and small pitcher of cream when Ben finally comes thundering down the stairs, impeccably dressed as always in one of his smart suits. He hurtles through the kitchen door and straight into Jim’s arms.

“Mornin’.” Ben smothering Jim’s face with kisses, smiling down at him. “Beautiful day, isn’t it?”

“Well…” Jim darts a glance to the lead gray clouds hanging low in the sky. “I suppose that depends on your definition of ‘beautiful’.”

Ben laughs and plants another kiss to Jim’s smiling mouth. Hands on Jim’s shoulders, he steers him over to his seat at the table and pulls the chair out for him. After helping Jim to tuck in close to the table, Ben sweeps Jim’s hand up and feathers a dainty row of kisses across his knuckles.

“It’s a very fine day indeed, Jim.”

The raspy whistle of the kettle interrupts them. Releasing Jim’s hand, Ben dashes over to carefully lift the kettle from the glowing element. He opens the cupboard above him and reaches up, and without so much as a glance, unerringly finds Jim’s favourite mug from its resting place on the shelf. He dumps two tea bags into the chipped blue teapot, adds the water then brings the pot, and their two mugs, over to the table. Jim watches him, chin in his hands, a smile on his face.

“You’re in a rare mood today.”

“Why shouldn’t I be?” Ben lays the tea service out on the table. “Today’s the last day of school, then I have two weeks off with nothing to do but stay in bed with you.”

Jim hides his pleased smile behind his hand as a flush of heat zings across his cheeks. He fervently hopes that the day never comes when Ben stops flirting with him - it’s silly and fun and he loves every second of it. He presses his palms to his flushed cheeks then tries to cover the fact that he’s blushing by sliding his hands up and raking his fingers through his hair as if he’s fussing with his tangled locks. Ben catches on to the ruse and winks outrageously at him, causing Jim to giggle. 

“Perhaps tomorrow we could go choose the Christmas tree, or would you rather sleep in?”

“Let’s go first thing in the morning. It’s already pretty late in the month, what if all the best trees are gone?”

Ben looks worried as he pours out the tea, adding too much milk as usual. He slides the sturdy mug toward Jim who accepts with a nod of thanks. Jim closes his eyes and inhales deeply of the fragrant steam as he takes the first sip of his spicy-sweet, milky tea. By now, he’s fairly certain Ben is adding far too much milk on purpose, he’s lived here long enough to know how to brew a proper cup of tea. Worst of all, and to his absolute horror, Jim has started to prefer Ben’s overly-milky tea to anything else.

“They won’t be, I know a secret place.”

“A secret tree place?” Ben laughs as he sits beside Jim. “I can’t believe you’ve been holding out on me, after all this time.”

“Well I can’t be expected to give up all my secrets immediately, can I?”

“I suppose not.” Ben agrees, stirring an alarming amount of sugar into his tea. “Breakfast?”

“Oatmeal, I think. We really need to go to the shops.” Jim moves to get up but Ben stops him with a hand on his shoulder.

“I’ll get it, you stay put.”

He brushes a light kiss to Jim’s hair then leaps from his chair and over to the stove. As Ben gets a pot of water boiling and takes the bag of oats from the cupboard, Jim pads down the hallway to retrieve the morning paper from the front step.

Once the oats are ready, they scoop jam and honey into their bowls and read the paper together, commenting on politics in Dublin, upcoming Christmas events in the area, and peruse the cinema listings for the small theatre over in Wexford. Jim takes note of a farm with a greenhouse out on Munster Hill that is selling ivy, holly, and greenery for the Christmas season. Their house is badly in need of some Christmas decorations and since this is Ben’s first real Christmas in Enniscorthy, Jim is in the mood to go overboard with the decorations and holiday cheer.

As Ben clears their breakfast dishes, Jim dashes upstairs to change. He slips out of his soft sleep clothes and tosses them on the bed as he goes to the wardrobe to fetch his favourite tweed brown trousers and green shirt. Pulling the clothes on, snapping his braces into place, he snatches his green jumper from the window bench and clatters back downstairs. He finds Ben shuffling around the dining room, which is his makeshift office for all his school supplies, gathering his things for the day’s lessons.

“Ready to go?” Jim leans against the doorframe to watch Ben prepare for his day.

“I sure am.” Ben comes around the table and fusses with the collar of Jim’s shirt, making it lie flat against the jumper. “You’ll come back for the pageant, right?”

“Of course,” Jim captures Ben’s hands, drawing them to his lips for a kiss, “you know I wouldn’t miss it.” 

He squeezes Ben’s hands once, then releases him. Together, they gather Ben’s canvas tote bag full of his little students’ assignments, colourful book reports, and artwork, all of which Ben has meticulously reviewed and graded. As Jim slips a folder of spelling assignments into his bag, he spies the little positive notes Ben leaves for all his students: ‘Excellent work William, I can see you’ve been practising’ and ‘Keep up the good work Poppy’, and each assignment, no matter the grade, has a note of encouragement from Ben. Jim also notices that each assignment has either a star, check mark, or an animal stamped onto it in colourful inks. Jim smiles as he takes the box full of props and decorations for the winter pageant out to the foyer and sets it on the stairs - Ben cares so much about his students’ education and Jim thinks it’s rather wonderful that Ben has truly found his calling in life. 

“What are you smiling about?” Ben comes into the foyer, lugging the rest of his school supplies with him.

“Nothing. Just you.” Jim flushes. He always comes over so soppy about Ben, but he can’t help it. Ben just inspires these moonstruck feelings in him.

Ben grins so broadly that he fairly glows from within and Jim falls a little deeper in love with him, if that’s possible. That perfectly imperfect smile, complete with crooked tooth, lights up Ben’s entire face and a rush of warmth ripples down Jim’s body right down to the tips of his toes. Still grinning, Ben gallantly helps Jim into his warm woollen coat and in turn, Jim holds Ben’s bags as he slips into his fine chocolate brown boots. With a final kiss, they head out into the cool, damp December morning to begin their day.

\----

After dropping Ben off at his school with the promise he’ll see him at one o’clock for the pageant, Jim stops off at the greenhouse and farm on Munster Hill.

Inside the long glittering greenhouse that sits off to the side of the weathered barn, Jim finds row upon row of brilliant red and white poinsettia plants, tables full of decorative greenery, and bags of potting soil, wood chips, and other gardening implements all stacked in neat rows by the wall. The rafters overhead are strung with fairy lights, wind chimes, bird houses, and all manner of baubles and trinkets for one’s home.

The farm is quiet this early in the morning so Jim gets the undivided attention of the clerk on duty. Together they select strands of vivid ivy, holly branches overflowing with tiny red berries, and fragrant pine boughs. As the clerk packs all of Jim’s purchases into a cardboard box, lined with newsprint, Jim spies a lovely holly wreath, with bits of smooth ivy intertwined with round, red berries and spiky holly leaves. He adds it to his order, thinking of how well it will look on the front door. With a slight blush, he also adds a sprig of mistletoe, the leathery green leaves and white berries nicely compliment the red and green of the holly wreath.

Jim thanks the clerk for his help and as he’s heading out to his car, he notices a trio of three evergreen trees decked out with carved wooden animals, stars and angels, and fine glass ornaments, all for sale. He spots a small glass ornament near the top of one of the trees and on an impulse, he decides to buy it for Ben. All of the decorations they have at home are from Jim’s parents and grandparents, things that Jim has had his whole life and he decides that it’s high time they started gathering ornaments and traditions of their own. He sets down his box of greenery and reaches up to carefully pluck the delicate ornament from the tree. He hurries back to the desk and the clerk wraps the fragile decoration in layers of snowy-white tissue paper and nestles it into a green gift box. Jim thanks the man again as he gathers up all his purchases and hauls them out to his car.

Once home, Jim drags the box of greenery into the front hall. He takes the gift box with Ben’s special surprise upstairs and tucks it away in the back of the wardrobe, under a stack of his jumpers, where Ben is unlikely to find it. 

By the time he finishes hanging the wreath on the front door, places the ivy and pine boughs on the mantle in the parlour, and brings the dusty boxes of old decorations up from the cellar, it’s time to return to Ben’s school for the performance. With a smile, he pins the mistletoe in place above the parlour door where Ben is sure to see it. He pauses to admire his handiwork, nose tingling with the sharp scent of evergreen that permeates the cozy room. All the room wants for now is the tree and Ben’s warm presence. Jim’s stomach does a giddy somersault as he thinks ahead to sharing the holiday season with Ben - trekking out to the woods to fetch the tree, sharing firelit meals in the parlour, hosting a gathering at their house. He glances around the intimate, gently glowing room with a smile as the grandfather clock in the hallway chimes the hour, stirring him from his reverie. Jim whirls out of the room and down the front stairs in a flurry of movement, gathering his coat and keys from the table by the door, eager to see Ben again and to finally begin their holiday.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After dropping Ben off at his school with the promise he’ll see him at one o’clock for the pageant, Jim stops off at the greenhouse and farm on Munster Hill.
> 
> \----
> 
> Jim and Ben's Christmas holidays continue with as much domestic bliss as you'd imagine.

Jim turns onto Ross Road, heading for Vinegar Hill Preparatory School. Over on the right, the small Georgian-style building appears through the bare winter trees, ivy-covered sides still evergreen in late December.

The school’s small, square car park is already full of cars of the staff and a few parents so Jim parks along the road. Stepping out of the warm car into the chilly December day, Jim shivers as he tugs his coat collar up higher around his neck. The wind whistles along the road, slicing through his winter layers to chill his skin and blow his hair into his eyes. Wrapping his arms around himself, he hurries along the grassy embankment toward the tall, mahogany-coloured doors of the school.

Jim had always admired the design of the school. Although it was only two floors, it was elegantly designed, with one main block and a high roof covered in slate. It was impossible to see what colour the brick of the building was through all the ivy, but that just made it look all the more windswept and picturesque. Each of the evenly spaced windows on the first and second floors is ablaze with lights and gaily bedecked with Christmas decorations and artwork. Beyond the school, the large playing field, grass now flattened and weathered to a dull brown-green, is lined with trees and hedges. Even with the muted greenery of the gardens and fields, the school makes for a very charming setting and Jim knows that Ben is very happy to have secured a position at such a place. He comes home from school every day full of stories about his young charges or gossip from the teachers’ lounge and Jim adores the gleam in Ben’s eyes when he talks about his day.

He springs up the front steps into the black and white tiled mezzanine where he is instantly swarmed by several enthusiastic students, all eager to press glossy programmes into his hands and direct him onwards to the auditorium. Jim dutifully follows their directions and the steady stream of parents, friends, and students to the auditorium.

The first four rows of seating are entirely taken up by proud parents so Jim settles for a seat in the fifth row back. The stage is raised so he still has a good view, although now the heavy red drapes, trimmed in dull gold braid, are drawn across, obscuring the sets and rigging behind them.

As Jim glances over the programme, he notices Ben’s class of six- and seven-year-olds will be up first. The curtain on the left-hand side of the stage twitches and the headmistress bats her way out from behind the voluminous folds of fabric. The audience applauds politely as she runs through her short speech, outlining the dates the school is closed, and then offers an invitation to stay for refreshments in the mezzanine after the performances.

The headmistress ducks back behind the heavy curtains and no sooner has she slipped out of sight than the curtains are laboriously drawn back to reveal colourfully painted sets depicting wintertime scenes from around Enniscorthy. Off to the right, a teacher takes her place behind the upright piano. Excited whispering draws Jim’s attention back to the left-hand side of the stage where he can see Ben’s students gathered, awaiting his signal to enter. Ben himself comes out of a door beside the stage. Closing the door with a quiet click, he hurries forward to wave his class into position, and they come onto the stage, all holding artwork of some kind, hesitant now that they are the centre of attention. With a bright smile, Ben guides them across the stage so that they are all lined up at the front, several of them peer anxiously into the crowd, searching for their parents. One little girl waves frantically, her long braided hair bouncing as she tries to catch her mother’s eye.

Ben stands in front of them quietly, hands clasped at his back, waiting for them to settle. When he has their attention, Jim can see him smiling reassuringly at them, calming any last bouts of stage fright. He motions to the pianist, and she strikes up a tinkling tune. Jim winces as the piano strikes a flat note, it obviously hasn't been tuned recently. Ben raises his hands and the students begin to sing.

_Who’s got a beard that’s long and white?_   
_Santa’s got a beard that’s long and white._

Two students at the end of the row hold their artwork aloft. The paintings depicted a cheerful-looking Santa with a bushy white beard made of snow white cotton balls. When they fail to lower their pictures at the end of their verse, Ben flaps his hand at them to draw their attention and they quickly tuck their paintings behind their backs, giggling as they do so. At Ben’s direction, the next two students raise their paintings of the town showing a star-filled sky overhead Enniscorthy’s familiar buildings.

_Who comes around on a special night?_   
_Santa comes around on a special night._

And so the song continues, with different students waving their paintings above their heads at differing points in the song. Ben frantically dashes back and forth, directing them - indicating whose turn it is to shine. Jim giggles at the performance, thoroughly charmed, as the small students sing-shout the lyrics to the song, proudly holding the matching pictures above their heads.

The sweet song describes Santa’s suit of red, rosy cheeks, the long cap on his head, and reindeer-sleigh. As the song draws to a close, the students repeat all of Santa’s characteristics once more, but this time, they keep their pictures held high. Ben sings along with them as the song draws to a close.

_Must be Santa, must be Santa_   
_Must be Santa, Santa Claus!_

They shout the last two lines triumphantly as the piano jangles its way to the crescendo of the song. A couple of the parents seated in the front row leap forward to snap some quick pictures as all the students wave excitedly to their mothers. Ben waits for them to settle down somewhat and then he motions for them to take their bow, then they flee the stage in peals of giggles and shrieks. Ben quickly whirls around and takes his own bow as the audience applauds. He looks up, obviously searching for Jim and when their eyes meet, he grins. He then hurries after his class through the side door as the heavy curtain is drawn across the stage.

\----

Once the short assembly wraps up and people begin to mill around the room, chatting with friends, Jim winds his way through the crowd toward the large windows overlooking the playing fields. He scans the wintery fields, taking in the skeletal trees, the windswept hedges, and the low, crumbling stone wall at the far end of the field. He slips the folded programme into his trouser pocket as he leans up against the cool window, arms crossed, staring absently at his feet while he contemplates the upcoming holiday season - for the first time in a long time, he’s actually looking forward to the long, dark nights of the winter months.

As he dreamily imagines the next few weeks with Ben, and whether or not the pub can financially withstand reduced hours so he can bask in Ben’s undivided attention, a familiar pair of brown and white Oxfords slink into his eye line. Jim smiles as Ben nudges the toe of one shoe against his plain brown brogues. He glances up.

“Hello Mr. Organa,” Jim grins broadly, “happy holidays to you.”

Ben winks.

“Why, Mr. Farrell, what a pleasure to see you at our little assembly.” Ben’s eyes dart to Jim’s mouth. “What did you think?”

Jim’s eyes flutter closed as he breathes in the heady scent of Ben’s familiar bergamot and cloves. He leans his head back against the window, glazing at Ben through heavily-lidded eyes. Ben looks beautiful as always - his rich, dark hair gleaming in its usual top knot and his fathomless eyes soft and sweet as he gazes down at Jim, a lazy smile curling his mouth.

“It was marvelous, of course.”

Jim longs to sway closer, to nuzzle into the humid hollow of Ben’s neck and breath deeply of the comforting scent of Ben’s skin. Ben’s eyes darken as if divining Jim’s every thought.

“Jim, I-”

Whatever Ben had been about to say is cut off as the sound of several tiny feet stampeding towards them snag Jim’s attention. He glances over Ben’s shoulder to see a gang of Ben’s small students eagerly rushing toward them carrying gifts, cards, and handfuls of biscuits. He sidesteps around Ben with an apologetic smile.

“Your students found you.” Jim whispers. “I’ll get some tea from the mezzanine and then meet you by the car?”

Ben catches his elbow with a gentle squeeze.

“Alright, then. I won’t be too long, I just have to close up my classroom for the break.”

Jim nods and Ben releases him with a final squeeze. As he steps away from Ben, the little crowd of students storms by him with cries of “Mr. Organa!” and “Happy Christmas!” Jim looks over his shoulder to see that Ben has crouched down to allow the children to swarm over him. He catches Jim’s eye and winks.

Jim leaves Ben to his students and wades through the crowd in the foyer. He accepts a cup of tea and plate full of biscuits and, juggling both in one hand, attempts to add milk and sugar to his cup. He moves through the crowd, greeting a few of Ben’s colleagues that he’s met on previous occasions, as well as a few people he recognizes from his bar. The airy room is full of excited chatter and the ambient sounds of heels on the tiled floor, the clink of cups on plates, and people discussing holiday plans and the weather all mix together in a droning buzz of noise.

After he finishes his tea, Jim deposits the cup and plate on a nearby table covered with a cheerful red and white tablecloth. He skips down the stairs, heading towards his car. Sometime during the Christmas assembly, the sun had managed to break through the leaden sky and it shines weakly down on the wintery landscape, watery and uncertain. Jim tips his face up to the sun, breathing deeply of the crisp, winter air that smells heavily of woodsmoke. The pale sun has chased off the chill in the air and Ben was right, Jim smiles to himself, it turned out to be a glorious day after all.

Arriving at his car, Jim perches on the bonnet and takes his cigarettes out of his pocket. Tapping one out onto his palm, Jim smokes lazily while he watches the clouds scudding by, hurried along by the swirling currents high in the sky.

The tea and refreshments part of the afternoon have obviously just wrapped up as excited students, followed by parents and other adults, begin streaming out of the school doors and down the steps. The smaller children are clearly thrilled to be done with school for a few days and looking forward to Christmas because Jim overhears them loudly and earnestly discussing holiday plans and wish lists. He smiles at their enthusiasm, he had always loved Christmas when he was small. The lights and decorations made dreary, dull Enniscorthy seem like a more magical place, everyone was in a more cheerful mood, and even the endless nights were bearable when every house was strung with fairy lights. Some of the luster had worn off the holiday for him in the last few years but, he sits up straighter as he spies Ben bounding down the stairs of the school, this year he feels some of that old magic returning.

Ben hurries across the barren lawn toward Jim, carrying a box overflowing with colourful paper in his arms. Jim tosses away his cigarette as he rises to greet Ben.

“What’s all this?”

He leads Ben around to the back of the car. Unlocking the door, he steps back so Ben can slide the box of gifts onto the backseat.

“This is unbelievable,” Ben grins at him, “these are all gifts from my students and their parents. Look.”

Ben delves into the cheerfully wrapped gifts with huge red and green bows, soft fabric gift bags, a few oranges, boxes of chocolates, and even a bottle of whiskey, showing Jim the generosity of his class.

“How kind.” Jim marvels.

“Isn’t it though?” Ben says softly, moved by people’s generosity, “I don’t think we’ll need to buy chocolates, oranges, or biscuits for the next month at least.”

“Look at all the sweet handmade cards,” Jim points out, “we’ll have to hang them up in the parlour.”

He allows Ben to guide him back from the car so he can close the door. He holds the keys out for Ben, who takes them with a grin.

“Drive carefully, mind.”

“Jim,” Ben dramatically clasps his hand to his heart, “I’m always careful, you know that.”

Jim scoffs but he can’t stop the smile from tugging at his lips. He opens the passenger side door, as Ben hurries around to the driver’s side, mindful of the oncoming cars as people depart the school. A few students run by, waving enthusiastically to Ben. They dash round the bend in the road and are gone in an instant. Ben folds himself heavily into the car, pulling the door closed behind him. He turns to Jim.

“Home?’

Jim nods. “Home.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that Ben is done with school for the holidays, Jim and Ben's Christmas festivities finally begin. With their families far-flung throughout Ireland and America, they have all the time in the world to spend with each other.

Jim groans as he rolls over. A tightness pinches behind his eyes and his mouth feels like cotton as he yawns widely, pulling a face at the dryness of his mouth. Ben has thoughtfully placed a tumbler of water beside the bed and Jim reaches for the glass, gratefully taking a large swallow of the tepid water. He blinks, bleary-eyed around the room as he sets the glass back on the table - Ben is nowhere to be found.

They had stayed up far too late the night before. One quiet celebratory drink after the bar closed with Jim’s feet in Ben’s lap, turned into two drinks and Jim perched in Ben’s lap, turned into three drinks and Ben’s shirt unbuttoned and his hair tumbling heavy and loose around his shoulders. Jim had giggled as Ben led him up to bed, unable to take their hands off each other for even a moment to ascend the stairs quickly.

Jim arches into a deep stretch, arms straining toward the headboard, toes flexing and pointing in pleasure. He sags back into the soft mattress, humming happily at the pleasant ache between his legs. His entire body was sleepy and sated, singing with the afterglow of being well-loved by Ben in the small hours of the morning. He stretches again, letting his arms relax over his head on the pillow. The sounds of water abruptly cutting off in the bathroom draw his attention.

He settles back into the bed comfortably, waiting for Ben’s return with a smile on his face. Ben’s heavy tread echoes down the hallway as he makes his return, whistling in a tuneless sort of way. He sails into the bedroom, still beautifully nude from last night, eyes lighting up as soon as he notices that is Jim awake. He crosses to the bed in two long strides and with a delicacy that belies his lanky, solid frame, easily hitches one leg up and over Jim to settle carefully astride his hips. He leans down with a smile, the ends of his hair curling damply around his chin, tickling Jim’s nose, to nuzzle a kiss into Jim’s neck.

“You’re finally awake.”

Jim tips his head to the side, allowing Ben to press closer. He wriggles and sighs with pleasure at the warm weight of Ben pressing him down to the bed.

“Why are you up so early? This is the first day of your holiday, don’t you want to sleep in?”

Jim reaches up to thread his fingers through Ben’s hair in order to tug him away from his neck and up to his mouth. He pecks a quick kiss to Ben’s smiling lips, mindful of the morning sourness on his tongue. He tries to pull away but Ben chases after his lips, kissing him thoroughly.

“There’s too much to do.” Ben sits up, dragging his fingertips lightly down Jim’s chest, thumbing idly at his nipples so that Jim to arch into his touch. “You have to show me that secret tree place.”

Jim gasps as Ben swoops down to tease one nipple with quick, dainty licks of his tongue.

“That’s what you’ve been thinking about this morning?” His voice is light and breathy as Ben teases him.

“Well, it’s one of the things,” Ben grins up at him, mouth still hot upon his skin. He shuffles back to rest between Jim’s legs, looking up at him reverently. “May I?”

“Oh God, yes.” Jim rasps out as he spreads his legs wider to better accommodate the width of Ben’s shoulders. He shudders as Ben’s warm, wet mouth sinks down on him and he arches his back deeply, crying out. Flinging his arm over his eyes, he barks out a hoarse laugh as he feels Ben smile against his skin, and he knows with certainty that they’re not leaving the bed anytime soon.

\----

“Are we close?”

“Mm-hmm,” Jim nods, “just around the corner here and we’ll stop.”

“So this is the fabled secret Christmas tree spot?”

This section of road is particularly narrow and winding so Jim can’t take his eyes off the road but he can hear the smile in Ben’s voice. He slows down to navigate the sharp bend before the road smooths out into a long, gentle curve, following a shallow stream partially encrusted with a thin sheet of ice. Leaving the two-lane highway behind, Jim turns down increasingly narrow, less traveled back roads, until they were the only car to be seen on the deserted road. 

Jim pulls the car over onto the narrow shoulder and cuts the engine. He turns to Ben with a grin.

“We’re here.” He announces, unnecessarily.

Ben reaches over to gather Jim’s hands in his and raise them to his lips for a kiss then presses them to his cheek. Jim sighs softly at the warmth of Ben’s skin against his cold, dry hands, chapped from the winter weather. Ben blows little puffs of air over Jim’s fingers, trying to warm them before they step out of the cozy car into the chilly day.

“How do you know about this place?” Ben asks as he releases Jim’s hands to open to glove compartment to fish out Jim’s woolen mittens. “It’s pretty remote.”

Jim takes the mittens with a nod of thanks then opens the car door and steps out onto the flattened grass of the shoulder.

“It’s not that remote.” He calls to Ben over the roof of the car. “We’re pretty close to Bree, we just took the back way.”

Ben clambers out of the car and pushes the seat forward so he can collect the saw and rope out of the back seat. He closes the door firmly, the sound echoing off the tall trees that border the road.

Although the sky is filled with dull gray clouds, they float high above them, and the sky is rather bright. The temperature had dropped overnight, low enough now that the air is speckled with a smattering of snow flurries.

Jim hurries around the car to Ben’s side.

“Let’s get going. I don’t want us to be stuck out here if the snow really starts flying.”

He slips his hand into Ben’s and together they pick their nimble way through the brambles at the side of the road and into the thicket of trees.

“Did you come here to get Christmas trees when you were a boy?”

Jim smiles, leaning into Ben’s side as they thread their way through the evergreens, over fallen, mossy logs, following a deer track through the trees. Once they were away from the road, the wind is dampened by the trees. Off to their right, the bushes rustle, followed by the scrabbling sounds of some small animal fleeing, startled by their sudden, unexpected presence in the wood.

“Yes,” Jim replies, “my father and I came here for our tree for several years, then as I got older, and the pub became busier, it was just easier to buy a tree from the temporary stall in the market square.”

“It’s too bad you stopped,” Ben glances over at him, eyes crinkling with a smile, “but I suppose it happens when you grow up.”

Jim leans his cheek on Ben’s shoulder as they walk, enjoying his company.

“Perhaps,” he muses, “but it’s nice to revive the tradition.”

Ben presses a kiss to Jim’s hair as he untangles their hands so he can sling his arm around Jim’s shoulders and hold him closer.

“We can come here every year, though, as long as there’s a forest.”

“Yes, exactly,” Jim whispers into Ben’s ear, “and this will be the first of many new traditions.”

Ben tugs him to a stop, dropping the saw and rope to the moss-covered ground. He cups Jim’s face in his large hands, drawing him forward to brush a tender kiss to Jim’s chilled lips.

“I’d like that.” Ben smiles, eyes soft, as he dots another kiss to Jim’s lips, then to the tip of his cold nose. “The first of many.”

Jim brushes a few strands of hair out of Ben’s eyes, tucking them behind his ear. He caresses the back of his palm down Ben’s cheek, smiling.

“Come on,” he murmurs, “let’s get our tree, then be on our way home.”

He stoops down to help Ben gather the fallen tools. They continue on their way through the woods, debating the merits of each potential Christmas tree they see, accompanied only by the birdsong reverberating in the trees around them.

After turning down five potential candidates, Ben finally lands on one tree that he declares to be the best of the lot. The tree is small, smaller in height than either of them, with thick full branches, lush and vibrant.

Jim holds the bottom branches out of the way as Ben fells the tree. They affix the ropes around the trunk and begin to backtrack toward the car, carefully towing the small tree behind them.

The snow flurries have stopped by the time they emerge from the forest, and Jim is glad for it. They have to tie the tree to the roof of the car, passing the ropes through the windows and up and over the tree - having the windows partially open will make for a chilly drive home.

Together, they heft the tree onto the roof. Ben throws the rope over the tree and Jim catches it and ducks inside the car to pass the end through to Ben, who ties it off. They wrap another length of rope around the tree and tie that off as well. Ben gives the tree a wiggle, declaring it secure.

Jim hustles them both into the car, eager to be on the way home and out of the cold weather.

“Well,” he says as he carefully turns the car around to head home, “what did you think?”

“That was fun,” Ben smiles as he reaches for Jim’s hand, “way better than just going to the corner lot and picking up a tree.”

“Is that what you and your family did each Christmas?”

“Yeah, it was just easier, I guess.” Ben smiles a bit sadly, gazing out the front windshield and into some long distant memory. Jim squeezes his hand. “The wilderness was just too far from Manhattan. It would have taken the entire day, and Han and Leia never seemed to have that kind of time. At least, it seemed like that when I was little.”

Jim hums and is quiet for a moment.

“Well, it’s not quite over yet, we’ll have to come back in the spring and plant a new tree, to replace the one we took.”

“I’ll look forward to it, then.” Ben replies, brightening as the momentary melancholy passes.

Jim smiles again as he navigates the car along the narrow road. Ben tightens his grip on Jim’s hand, not letting go until they arrive home.

\----

“Alright, here you go, the angel goes first.”

Jim unwraps the antique decoration from its nest of yellowed tissue paper. The tree topper had belonged to Jim’s grandmother and his mother left it for him when she and his father had retired to Glenbrien. The angel is very delicate, made fragile by age and use, but her delicately arching wings still shimmer with a few flakes of gold dust. His mother probably envisioned him decorating the tree with his family one day - he glances up at Ben who is fussing with the placement of the angel on the tree - setting it, then resetting, twisting and turning it until it’s exactly right - Ben is probably not the family she had in mind, but he’s all the family Jim wants or needs.

“Okay, how’s that?”

Ben stands back from the tree, proudly admiring his handiwork. He dusts his hands off, showering Jim with errant gold dust from the angel’s wings. Jim huffs a laugh as he ruffles his hands through his hair trying to dislodge the golden glitter as Ben looks down at him fondly. He holds out his hands for Jim then hauls him to his feet from amongst the many boxes of decorations.

“I think that looks pretty good.” Jim brushes his hair off his forehead. “Now for the lights.”

They dig through three boxes of decorations until Ben finally unearths a knotted ball of fairy lights. Jim spends several minutes meticulously untangling the strings of lights while Ben stacks boxes of ornaments on the coffee table in order of his preference. He lays out box after box of delicate blown-glass baubles in a fantastic array of colours, from gleaming gold to vivid red, and even some in the palest of pinks and silvers. Another box contains Jim’s favourites - all six of the parti-coloured baubles all have a different winter scene carefully painted on in white. Ben chooses another box containing teardrops bulbs, all delicately frosted with silver, then with an “ooh” of interest, he rummages deeper into the box and pulls out a set of six glass birds, all paper-thin blown glass and all painted a warm cream colour, accented with gold. The birds have brushy tails and petite clothes-pin type feet that allow them to perch gracefully on the branches. Ben smiles in delight as he sets them aside.

“Okay, I think the lights are ready.” Jim lurches to his feet trailing the strings of lights. “Here, you take this end.”

He hands off one of the strings of lights to Ben and they take turn winding them around the tree. Jim regards their work with a critical eye - the tree is already looking festive, decked out with only the angel and the white lights. He adds some beaded garland as Ben haphazardly begins hanging the ornaments, no rhyme or reason to their placement on the tree. Only when the branches begin to droop from the overabundance of decorations, does Ben seem satisfied. Jim hides a grin behind his hand as Ben searches for one last bare branch to attach the last glittering bird. He steps back, proud look on his face, and catches Jim’s bemused glance. He ruffles his hair sheepishly.

“Leia was always very particular about the decorating when she had the time.” Ben rolls his eyes lightly. “Everything was colour-coordinated, and very organized.”

“Well, this is our tree, our traditions. It can look however we want.”

Jim slips his arm around Ben’s waist and pulls him into a one-armed hug. Ben nuzzles a kiss to Jim’s temple.

“I think it looks good.” His voice is muffled by Jim’s hair. “It’s just as colourful as a Christmas tree should be.”

“I agree.” Jim reaches up to cup Ben’s face. He brushes his thumbs over Ben’s cheeks in long, smooth strokes, savouring the warm softness of Ben’s skin. “I have an early present for you, I’ll go get it, if you’ll tidy the boxes away?”

Ben nods as he lips a kiss to Jim’s palm. Jim lets his hands slip from Ben’s face as he turns to hurry out of the room. He dashes up the stairs, two at a time, and into their bedroom. Retrieving the green gift box from his not-so-clever hiding place in the wardrobe, Jim rushes to return to the parlour, eager to start spoiling Ben with presents.

When he returns, he finds that Ben has stacked the empty decoration boxes in the hallway so they could be returned to the cellar later, and he’s now leaning against the frame of the parlour door, gazing into the freshly decorated room with a soft, pleased smile curling up one corner of his mouth. Jim sidles up beside him, slipping his arm around his waist. He leans his cheek against Ben’s shoulder, sighing.

Ben had drawn the heavy green-striped drapes closed to keep out the dark, damp night and the chilly draughts of winter wind from sneaking in between the cracks of the window frame. The fire roaring cheerily in the fireplace melts into the soft light from the many candles on the mantle and the room pulses with an inviting, warm glow. The light flickers off the gleaming glass ornaments on the tree, sparkles off the garland, and makes the white fairy lights glow brightly. With the ivy- and pine-draped mantle, the room is cozy and intimate. Jim breathes deeply, leaning more heavily on Ben’s shoulder.

“This is nice.” Ben brushes a kiss to Jim’s forehead, wrapping his arm around Jim’s narrow shoulders.

“It is,” Jim agrees, “I’ve been looking forward to the holiday. Just the two of us, lots of good food, no intrusions or appointments, or reasons to leave the house at all.”

“I can’t think of a single reason why we’d leave the house.” Ben grins into Jim’s hair.

“Me neither. Not a single one.”

Ben chuckles quietly. He turns so that he can pull Jim flush against him, arms slinging around Jim’s neck. Jim leans into Ben’s chest, holding the small gift box behind his back. Ben’s eyes dart to the mistletoe hanging in the doorway above them, then back to Jim’s face, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Jim basks for a moment in the happiness radiating from Ben before tilting his face up, silently asking for a kiss. Ben obliges by pressing his lips softly to Jim’s forehead, then feathering kisses over his cheeks, then finally brushing his lips over Jim’s.

“Happy Christmas, Ben,” Jim whispers, craning his neck to steal another kiss from Ben’s lovely, soft mouth.

“Happy Christmas.”

Ben cups Jim’s face, sweeping the pad of his thumb over Jim’s cheek and Jim smiles as he turns to press his lips to Ben’s questing fingertips. He holds the green gift box up in his other hand.

“Here, this is for you.”

Ben takes the box, excitement dancing across his face. He removes the silver bow from the top of the box and sticks it to Jim’s shirt collar with a grin. Jim presses the bow firmly to the fabric of his collar, making sure it stays in place. Ben runs his thumb under the flaps of the box, breaking the tape that holds it closed. With care, he unfolds the layers of crisp white tissue paper to reveal a sparkling glass ornament in the shape of a schoolhouse. He cradles it in his hand as he places the box onto the chair just inside the parlour door.

“Thank you, Jim,” he says, holding the little decoration up to catch the light, “it’s beautiful.”

The small schoolhouse is made of blown-glass and painted silver. The red roof has a dusting of snow and a miniscule sign about the door simply reads “school” in neat black letters.

“I knew you’d like it.” Jim says, pleased with himself.

“I do.” Ben holds the ornament closer to inspect the miniature windows. “It looks a bit like Vinegar Hill Prep.”

Jim catches the little bauble delicately in his fingertips. “I thought so, with all the windows in tidy little rows. Maybe the artist drew inspiration from your actual school.”

Ben tips Jim’s face up and kisses him lightly, eyes aglow. “That’s a nice thought. Thank you again, now we have the start of our own collection.”

He crosses the room to the tree and hunts for a suitable branch. Jim stays in the doorway. He slips his hands into his pockets as he watches Ben, lip snagged between his teeth. He resolves to buy Ben a new ornament every year until they can replace everything on the tree with decorations and baubles that are theirs, not mere hand-me-downs. Ben fusses with the placement of the schoolhouse, moving it from branch to branch until finally he settles on a branch at the top of the tree, near the angel, where it will catch the eye and the light. After several years of having no one to share the holiday with, Jim is looking forward to the next two weeks. He thinks about the pile of presents with Ben’s name on them hiding upstairs, and he grins to himself.

Ben bounds over to Jim and sweeps him up for another kiss. Jim’s laughter turns to a yelp as Ben dips him low and plants an enthusiastic kiss to his lips.

The holidays were going to be a wonderful this year, he thinks. Absolutely perfect.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben drives up to Dublin to see his grandmother, leaving Jim time to wrap presents and think about what would have happened had he not met Ben.

“You’ll be back tomorrow, right?”

“You know it - up to Dublin, then over to Sligo, and then back. Quick as you please”

“Alright, come kiss me a thousand times and then get along with you.”

Ben laughs as he sets his small yellow traveling case down by the front door. He sweeps Jim up in a crushing embrace, holding him close, and peppering his face with kisses. Jim giggles and squirms a bit in Ben’s arms, laughing even as he tips his face up to receive Ben’s kisses.

Ben sets him down on his feet and, cupping his face, regards him with a more sober expression. He brushes his thumb over Jim’s cheek when leans it to press a worshipful kiss to Jim’s winter-dry lips.

“I’ll be back before noon tomorrow.” He promises as he dips back to Jim’s mouth for a deeper kiss. “You won’t even have time to miss me.”

Jim’s smile wobbles slightly. “I always miss you when you’re away from me.”

Ben grins, resting his forehead against Jim’s. 

“I could come back today then, keep you out of trouble and such.”

Jim sighs as he tangles his fingers in Ben’s neat curls. He tugs slightly on the soft locks. Ben hums quietly in pleasure, his eyes drifting closed. 

“You should stay overnight, it’s a long drive, and you should spend some time with your family.”

“You’re part of my family too.” Ben’s eyes begin to drift closed as Jim continues to tease his fingers through his hair. He winds his arms around Jim’s waist, tugging him closer so that they’re pressed right up against each other. “The most important part of my family.”

“And mine too.” Jim kisses Ben gently. “But you haven’t seen your auntie in years or your cousins.”

“True.” Ben leans in for one last parting kiss. “I haven’t seen them since I was ten, and I know Gran will appreciate not having to take the bus.”

“A family reunion is definitely overdue then.”

Jim reluctantly disentangles himself from Ben to fuss with Ben’s collar and hair, setting him to rights. Ben curls his hand along the back of Jim’s neck, squeezing once. He lets his hand slowly trail away from Jim’s heated skin as he steps away to fetch his winter coat.

“Oh, wait, I have presents for you to take-” Jim breaks off and steps quickly into the parlour, retrieving a small neatly-wrapped box and a tall, slim bag from beneath the tree- “here, for Padme.”

He holds the box out to Ben, who takes it with a smile.

“And that?” He nods toward the bag.

“The finest whiskey Farrell’s Pub has to offer, for Sola and Padraig.”

“Ah, that’s lovely of you.”

“It’s just a small thing, I wasn’t sure what they’d like, but whiskey is a safe bet.”

Ben laughs.

“That’s for sure.” He slips the small box into his pocket and accepts the bag with the whiskey from Jim. “Come walk me to the car.”

Jim follows Ben out the door and down the steps. He folds his arms across his chest against the chill in the early morning air. Ben stashes his small case and the whiskey on the floor of the back seat. He unlocks the door but pauses for a moment, arms resting atop the open door.

“I’ll be home by lunchtime tomorrow.”

“I’ll look for you, have a safe drive.” Jim rubs his hands over his arms to chase away the cold. “Give my love to Padme.”

“I will, of course.”

Ben pops himself into the car and turns the ignition. He zips the car in reverse down the driveway. As Jim’s small car ricochets away, Ben sounds the horn twice and waves his hand out the window.

“And drive carefully, good Lord!” Jim calls after him, waving, as the car whisks around the corner and is gone.

He stands on the front porch for a few seconds longer, listening for the faint sounds of Ben’s car fading in the distance. When he can no longer hear the wheeze of the engine, Jim goes inside, quietly closing the door behind him.

He stands in the foyer, hands on hips, listening to the sounds of the silent house. The cheery crackling of the fire safe behind its grate in the parlour is the most noticeable, but Jim can just make out the rustling of the bare branches of the hedges against the kitchen windows, moved by the brisk morning breeze, the creaking of the house settling, and the sputtering of another car down the road.

The house is quiet but it has a different quality to it this morning. It’s not the oppressive, mournful silence of that one horrid summer when Ben had been forced to return to Manhattan. No, Jim shakes himself gently to dispel that memory, as he sweeps down the hallway to the kitchen, this was a different kind of quiet. Evidence of their shared life is all over the house - from the remains of the cinnamon and sugar toast Ben sometimes favours for breakfast and the dregs of his milky tea, to his messy pile of newspapers stacked on the corner of the kitchen table, and the half-finished crossword done in pen. In pen, Jim shakes his head. Ben has made the house a home, and even in his absence, his warmth infuses every corner of the house.

Jim cleans up the remains of their hasty breakfast and then trots into the dining room turned Ben’s office. He rummages through the neat stacks of art supplies and student notebooks laid out on the dining table, looking for a package of wrapping paper that he’s sure he’s spied in here earlier in the week. All of Ben’s lesson plans and activities for the first two weeks of school are organized at one end of the table and Jim is careful not to disturb them, but as his gaze glances over the pages, he smiles. From the looks of it, Ben’s little students would be learning some new maths and spelling problems and, Jim gingerly lifts the corner of the closest stack of papers, the flora and fauna of Enniscorthy. Jim shuffles the papers to rights, thoroughly charmed by the lesson plans - it was no wonder Ben was so popular with his students. With his easy smile, sunny disposition, and these creative assignments, he was a favourite with students and parents alike. 

Jim pauses and allows himself to miss Ben for a moment. He sighs as he shakes himself out of his temporary gloom. Finally fishing the decorative paper out from beneath a set of notebooks and primers, Jim gathers it up with the rest of his gift-wrapping supplies. He pauses in the doorway to glance fondly around the organized chaos of Ben’s office.

He smiles as he flips off the light in the room and closes the door behind him, tugging on the handle firmly. Thankfully his parents are enjoying their quiet, retired life and prefer to have him visit their cottage in Glenbrien, rather than coming to the house - this way, his mother wouldn’t have to know that her handsome oak dining table is being used to shape the educational futures of Enniscorthy’s students rather than hosting Sunday afternoon dinners. Ben’s made better use of the grand table and room anyway, in Jim’s opinion.

Upstairs, in their intimate and comfortable bedroom, Ben’s presence is even more apparent. His impeccable suits and waistcoats are lined up precisely according to colour in the wardrobe and his collection of old jazz records take up much of the space on the bureau. On the bedside table, their dog-eared copy of _The Voyage of the Dawn Treader_ , waits for Ben’s return. They had been taking turns reading to each other at night - they had nearly finished the book and would have to choose something new shortly, Jim hoped he could tempt Ben into reading one of his detective novels, there was that new Poirot novel he’s yet to read.

His somber mood descends again as the quiet of the house settles around him. He did miss Ben, missed everything about him. He can’t help but be greedy for Ben’s gentle affections and bright smiles, he breathes them in like air. It wasn’t that he thought he was incapable of being loved, but after Michael, Kathleen, and Eilis, he had started to wonder if maybe he was just destined to always make his way alone in the world.

Then his life collided with Ben’s on Curracloe Beach and he was forever changed. Ben gave all of himself to Jim, as Jim did to Ben. They held nothing back from each other. Jim offered up near daily thanks to whichever of the Saints had been looking out for him that day - he really should increase his monthly tithes at St. Aidan's in thanks for that divine intervention.

To feel closer to Ben, he crosses the room to the bureau and picks out one of Ben’s jazz records. Gently placing the record on the turntable, he drops the needle and soon the smooth, crooning voice of the singer fills the room accompanied by the jangly piano and bold, brassy horn section. Jim instantly feels lighter as he all but dances across the room to the wardrobe to gather Ben’s presents.

After an hour of careful wrapping and be-ribboning, Jim has neatly wrapped all Ben’s presents in festive paper. Each package is adorned with silver and gold bows, trailing long, looping curls of silver ribbons. Jim slips the last tag onto a long, flat box that holds his most important gift to Ben and sits back on the bed to survey his work. Downstairs, the grandfather clock in the hallway chimes the hour causing Jim to gasp. He quickly gathers up the wrapped gifts and slides them into their hiding place at the bottom of the wardrobe.

He’s expecting a delivery at the pub at one o’clock and he still has to walk there since Ben has his car. Clattering down the stairs, he grabs his jacket off the hook by the door. Hurrying into the kitchen, he cuts a thick slice of bread for his lunch. Slathering it with butter and jam, he shoves it into his mouth and he shrugs on his jacket as he whirls out the door.

\----

A long, dull afternoon spent at his office in Farrell’s Pub mindlessly filling out paperwork was followed by a busy night contending with boisterous holiday revelers, all topped off with a tedious party at George and Nancy’s.

No, not tedious, Jim reflects as he wearily makes the long trek from the parlour to his bedroom. George and Nancy are some of his oldest friends, they had grown up together, he was delighted and pleased to have attended their wedding. But after Eilis left, Nancy tended to regard him with large wounded eyes, as if she shouldered all the blame for his heartbreak and Eilis’s deception. He had tried to assuage Nancy’s misplaced guilt, insisting that he was not mortally wounded by what had transpired and was actually flourishing but she still treated him overly gentle, like he was still that breakable creature from those first few days.

He slides his thumbs under his braces, pulling them down over his shoulders and letting them curve down over his hips. As he gains the last stair and turns to head toward the bedroom, he begins unbuttoning his cuffs. Once in the room, he sags down on the rumpled bed with a tired groan. Slumping back, he lays down, kicking off his shoes in the process. He relaxes into the comfortable bedding, arms extended over his head. There was nothing he could do about Nancy and her fussing, he decides, she’ll get over it in time or not. He rolls over onto his belly and flounces down upon Ben’s pillow, hugging it to his chest and burying his face in the soft cotton.

While it was true that Nancy had introduced them, she could hardly be held accountable for all that followed. Jim had barreled into that relationship with his eyes wide open and maybe he had been a little naive to think his love and affections were enough to entice Eilis to stay in Enniscorthy. He snuggles further down into Ben’s pillow, nuzzling into the familiar scent, sighing. It had been enough for Ben though, Jim thinks, more than enough. All Jim had to offer was his heart and Ben had been happy and eager to accept and now Jim can’t think of a time when he had been so cherished by another person. So, in the end, hadn’t things turned out for the best?

The novelty of Ben’s absence, however, had gradually worn off over the course of the day and now Jim wants nothing more than to sink safe and secure into Ben’s arms and let that deep, soothing voice wash over him and lull him to sleep. He aches to just wrap himself around Ben and exist together in the narrow confines of their bed.

Jim rolls over, pushing Ben’s pillow back into place beside his at the head of the bed. He unclips his braces and tosses them onto the chair in the corner of the room. He had been half hoping all day that Ben might return this evening and surprise him, but he knew that was a selfish hope - Ben hadn’t been to Sligo to see his family in years, Jim would never want to deprive Ben of renewing his family connections. Perhaps he would suggest that they invite Sola and Padraig, their children and grandchildren, and Padme to Enniscorthy for the August holiday.

Too tired to bother cleaning up before bed, he carefully places his pocket watch on the bedside table then sheds his clothes. Throwing the bundle of clothes into the hamper, he snaps off the light and falls back into bed, pulling the blankets up to his chin, determined to get a restful night’s sleep, awaken bright-eyed in the morning refreshed and ready for Ben’s return. Maybe tomorrow they should go for lunch at Connaught’s as a special treat. The hotel always puts on a fine lunch and now, so close to Christmas, they’d be sure to plate an even more decadent meal than usual. He snuggles down into the comfortable mattress and mound of blankets, sighing contentedly.

He rolls onto his side to watch the moon rise in the clear night sky. The bright light from the winter night sky floods the room through the wide-open drapes, and he falls asleep bathed in moonlight, pleasant thoughts of tomorrow’s reunion spooling out behind his closed eyes and Ben’s whispered name on his smiling lips.

\----

The faint click of the wardrobe door closing rouses Jim from the depths of his slumber. The padding of quiet feet around the room brings him all the way awake, and he lays curled up on his side, eyes blinking blearily in the gray light of the morning.

Ben is slinking around the room, undressing as silently as he can to avoid waking Jim. Jim burrows into the blankets, sighing softly, watching as Ben slips out of his waistcoat and sets it aside for cleaning. His eyes follow Ben’s movements as he slides the wilted cream shirt down over his strong shoulders, the linen fabric whispering as it glides down his arms and nearly drops to the floor before Ben gathers it up with deft hands.

Jim sighs a bit louder, smiling into the pillows, as Ben’s trousers fall from his narrow hips. He collects them from the floor and deposits them with the shirt and waistcoat. He turns to the bed then, clad in only his little navy-blue briefs, a soft smile on his face. The smile blooms wider when he sees that Jim is awake.

“You’re a sight for sore eyes.” He grins broadly, approaching the bed. “I missed you.”

“Has anyone ever told you how unfairly beautiful you are?” Jim blinks sleepily as he shuffles back, pulling the blankets open in invitation. “Because you are, I could swear that I’m looking at some fey from the garden wall, all wreathed in silver morning light, and not my Ben.”

Ben giggles as he slides into bed beside Jim. “I wasn’t gone so long that you’ve forgotten that I’m just plain Ben Organa?”

“Oh, hushabye, you’re the most beautiful thing in County Wexford,” Jim admonishes with a whisper, “now get over here and warm me up, it’s freezing in here.”

“Gladly.” Ben giggles again as he pulls the blankets up around them. “I missed you.”

Jim rolls over so he can nestle the curve of his backside into the cradle of Ben’s hips, arching his back to easily fit the space between Ben’s arms. He sighs in contentment as Ben nuzzles into his hair, pressing a kiss to the warm nape of his neck. He laces their hands together and draws them up to his lips for a kiss.

“I’m glad you’re home.”

Ben settles more firmly against him. He feels the curve of Ben’s lips as he smiles against his neck. Jim begins drifting off to sleep again, secure in Ben’s embrace.

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.” Ben whispers into his hair, wrapping his arms tighter around Jim.

With Ben’s strong arms holding his close, Jim begins to nod off when the knell of the downstairs clock echoes up the stairs. The clock chimes eight times then the rhythmic tick-tock resumes.

“Hold it.” Jim rolls himself over in Ben’s arms. “What are you doing home this early, it’s only eight now. You must have left at five to make it here by now.”

Ben tips his chin up to press a kiss to Jim’s nose, his eyes still closed. He smiles. “I was up to help Padraig and Rory with the animals and Padme said I should get on the road because it looked like a storm was coming.” He pauses to gather Jim in closer, tucking his face into the hollow of Jim’s neck, muffling his words. “But really, I think she could tell I was anxious to be on my way home.”

Jim settles himself more comfortably against Ben’s broad chest. “She’s perceptive to a frightening degree.” He rubs his lips against Ben’s hair, eyes beginning to droop closed again. “I owe her the sun and stars next time I see her, for sending you back to me so soon.”

“Come with me when I go back to bring her home, she’d be delighted to see you.” Ben mumbled drowsily into Jim’s neck, his lips tickling over the sensitive spot beneath Jim’s ear. “We could stay overnight in Dublin, if you wanted.

“Mmm, yes,” Jim sighs as Ben catches his earlobe between his lips and tugs. “Let’s talk about it later.”

Ben laps once more at his neck, nuzzles in close as his breathing evens out. They drift back to sleep wrapped securely in each others arms as the morning sun peeks through the webbing of the trees in out in the garden.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's getting closer to Christmas and Jim and Ben host a raucous holiday party at their house, complete with music, drinks, song, and some surprising party guests.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to be on holiday this week and next and I won't have my computer with me so please accept this super long chapter in place of two updates this week. Fear not, there's so cliffhanger, I'm only delaying the inevitable sweet, loving conclusion of their Christmas story for a week!
> 
> As a side note, the Wren Boys are a real Irish Christmas tradition but they usually make their procession on St. Stephen's Day. For this story, I've merged this tradition with the Newfoundland tradition of mummering or jannying. Both traditions are very similar in that people dress up in crazy costumes, but with mummering you might get a parade, walk, a short play, as well as the informal house visits.
> 
> And finally, the song that Jim sings - Boolavogue - is a real one and I'd recommend listening to it if you have a change because it is lovely, despite the tragic storyline. I can point you to my favourite rendition if you come at me on tumblr or in the comments.

“How many people are we expecting?” Ben huffs as he helps Jim move the upright piano from his study into the parlour.

“I’m not sure, exactly, people tend to come and go.” Jim replies as he throws his shoulder into the sideboard of the instrument to help pivot it through the parlour door. “It’ll be everyone from the neighbourhood, George and Nancy, Alistair and Brian - they’ll be bringing their instruments - Annette, some of the fellows from the rugby club.”

They haul the piano into the newly cleared parlour and push it against the wall. They’ve already removed most of the furniture to the upstairs in order to make room for all the revelers expected tonight. Jim plans to have the musicians set up around the Christmas tree in the corner of the room, leaving plenty of room for dancing and comings and goings.

“And how does this work, exactly? You all take turns hosting everyone throughout the holidays”

“Yes,” Jim said, following Ben out of the parlour and back into the study to collect the piano stool and the sheet music. “It’s been a long-standing tradition with the other families on the street. I don’t always go in because it’s so much work but I wanted to do something special for your first real Christmas home.”

Ben made a pleased, little cooing sound. “I’m looking forward to it, you know I love hearing you play.” Ben hands the sheet music to Jim and hefts the piano stool up into arms, following Jim back to the parlour. “What songs are you performing, I haven’t heard your practicing anything I don’t already recognize.”

Jim throws a pleased grin over his shoulder. “It’s a surprise. You’re going to have fun, I promise.”

“I know I will.” Ben sets the stool down, tucking it under the keybed with the side of his foot. “You’ve been adorably flushed and jittery all day.”

“I’m sure it's just because we’ve been moving furniture around.”

“Yeah, right.” Ben grins, snaking his arm around Jim’s waist to pull him closer to drop a kiss on Jim’s forehead.

Jim smiles as he pulls his pocket watch out and consults the time. “It’s half three now, people won’t start showing up until at least six o’clock.” He snaps the watch closed, slipping it back into his pocket. He looks up at Ben with a hopeful smile curling up the corner of his mouth. “What should we do with our stolen time?”

Ben makes a show of tapping his finger to his lips, pretending to think. “I guess we could go wash up.”

“If we must.” Jim heaves an exaggerated sigh and holds out his hand for Ben.

Ben takes his hand with a laugh. “You’re lovely, you know that?”

Jim’s cheeks flush. “You hardly need to seduce me, Ben Organa, I’m already well and truly smitten with you. But all the same, don’t ever stop.”

A burst of delighted laughter bubbles up from Ben. He sweeps both of Jim’s hands up in his, pressing them hard to his smiling mouth. “I’d like to see someone try and stop me.” He releases Jim’s hands only to guide Jim’s arm around his waist as he wraps his arm around Jim’s shoulders. He’s still chuckling as he leads Jim up the stairs to the bedroom.

\----

Their washing up was not as long or as luxurious as Jim would have liked, but they were short on time. He told Ben more about the past Christmas gatherings in between Ben gently washing his hair for him, and then Ben lifting his face trustingly in order for Jim to carefully shave his dark stubble.

“I wish I had been there for all of them.” Ben sighs.

Jim strokes his hand over Ben’s newly-shorn cheeks. He rises up on his knees and carefully reaches for the small jar of aftershave lotion. Settling back down in Ben’s lap with a slight splash, sloshing some of the sudsy water from the bathtub onto the white tile floor, he twists off the lid to the jar and holds the container up to his face to breath in spicy scent. The sharp, juniper scent reminds him of that little soft spot under Ben’s jaw, he loves to bury his face there and just inhale, Ben always smells wonderful and comforting. Smoothing some of the silky lotion on Ben’s face, he smiles down at him.

“It was mostly just me, hiding away by myself until I was old enough to invite friends, or escape the party altogether.”

Ben leans into Jim’s hand and gazes up at him with enormous dark eyes. “Yes, but we could have hidden out together.”

Jim smiles softly. His eyes roam over Ben’s face, bouncing from his expressive eyes, down to his mouth, and along his jaw. He runs the pad of his thumb along Ben’s eyebrow, smoothing the water out of the fine hairs and making them lie flat.

“Maybe there will be time for some of that tonight.” A bolt of heat races down his spine at the sudden hopeful look that brightens Ben’s face. “Come on, let’s get out, the water is getting cold.”

Jim claps the lid back on the shave lotion and sets it on the edge of the tub. He pushes off Ben’s lap, wobbling unsteadily to his feet. He reaches down to help haul Ben up and they step over the lip of the tub, water cascading from their bodies.

Once they’re dry with hair carefully styled, dressed in their best - Ben wearing Jim’s favourite suit, a fine charcoal waistcoat and trousers with a subtle checkered pattern with a soft, dove-gray shirt and Jim in his sharp tweed trousers with a cream shirt - Jim notices that they still have some time left over. He slips his braces over his shoulders, running his hands down his chest to make sure the fabric is smooth. As he’s rolling his sleeves up into neat folds at his elbows, he glances up to catch Ben’s glittering gaze. He raises an eyebrow in question, darting his eyes toward the bed, then back to Jim.

“Alright,” Jim giggles as he strides to the bed, “but try not to wrinkle my shirt too much, we have to look presentable shortly.”

Ben grins, gleeful and shark-like, as he pounces on Jim bearing him down onto the bed. They fall to the bed, legs tangling together. Ben slips his hand around Jim’s throat, tilting his face for a kiss as Jim wraps his hands in the fabric of Ben’s shirt to drag him closer.

They exchange sweet, fleeting kisses, nipping at each other’s mouths, alternating between tugging each other closer and pushing away to pant heavily and calm their racing hearts. Jim’s hands ache to tangle Ben’s luxurious hair, but it’s already carefully styled for the evening so he settles from twining his fingers in the loose curls at the nape of Ben’s neck.

Ben rocks closer at the same time as Jim drags his leg up to hook around Ben’s hips and the delicious motion unlocks something inside both of them. Ben surges forward, bearing Jim back on the bed, his mouth hot against Jim’s neck. Jim gives up with a groan, burying his hands in Ben’s hair, tugging out the pins and ties holding it up in its knot. Ben’s dark hair tumbles down, framing his face. Jim winds his hands in the flyaway curls and tugs Ben’s mouth urgently against his. Ben deftly begins to unbutton Jim’s shirt with a practiced hand and just as his fingers snake inside the fabric to dance over the sensitive skin of Jim’s belly, a loud insistent knocking sounds at the front door.

“Let’s pretend we’re not home,” Jim whispers against Ben’s flushed neck.

Ben laps at Jim’s mouth then sits up, grinning. “They’ll know we’re home, we left all the lights on downstairs.”

Jim groans, letting his head thump back on the pillow. Ben shuffles back from between Jim’s legs, pulling him upright. Ben makes quick work of buttoning Jim’s shirt for him and fussing with his braces. Jim scrubs his hands over his face, trying to relieve some of the tingling sensations from Ben’s worshipful kisses.

“How do I look? Like I’ve been tumbled?”

Ben regards him critically. “A little, your hair is a bit rumpled. Here, let me-” He rakes his fingers through Jim’s hair, combing it roughly into shape. “-better. You still look a bit windswept, like you’ve been running around frantically, but still handsome.”

Jim smooths his hands down over his shirt, tugging it flat against his body. He presses a soft kiss to Ben’s mouth then hurries from the room as the doorbell chimes loudly. He flings the door wide for the first of the guests, his heart racing and lips swollen from Ben’s kisses.

\----

The party is well underway by the time Ben swans downstairs, looking freshly pressed as if he hadn’t been wrapped around Jim a mere fifteen minutes prior. His hair is smoothly gathered in its top knot and his suit is crisp. Meanwhile, in the parlour, Jim has to open the window to let the cool, damp night air in - his cheeks are still flushed from Ben’s kisses and the house is so already crowded that he feels wilted.

Leaving Ben to handle door duties and play the good host, Jim removes his honey-coloured fiddle from its case and begins the precise work of tuning the instrument. When he’s satisfied, he places the fiddle beneath his chin and, with Brian in accompaniment on the piano, they run through a few of Jim’s favourite reels while they wait for the other musicians to arrive. 

Ben lounges casually in the parlour doorway, a proud smile beaming on his face as he watches Jim play. Jim glances up, catching Ben’s eye. Ben grins broadly in return, his eyes flickering briefly to the mistletoe. A rush of heat blooms across Jim’s cheeks - he hopes it would be mistaken for a reaction to the warmth of the room, but the quiet burst of laughter from the doorway told him he’s been caught out.

The doorbell rings, sparing Jim from further blushing. Ben disappears from the parlour as he goes to greet the new arrivals. Happy greetings and laughter billow out from the hallway from people welcoming Alistair, Annette, and her sister Mary, as they elbow their way through the crowd and into the parlour, towing a variety of instrument cases with them. Jim smiles a greeting as they set down their cases, divesting themselves of their woolen winter coats.

“Jim, your house looks lovely.” Annette says as she gathers up hers and Mary’s coats. “The decorations are perfect.”

“Thank you,” Jim removes the fiddle from the crook of his neck, “this is Ben’s first Christmas in Enniscorthy so I thought I’d go all out.”

“Are the Wren-”

Jim quickly shakes his head, shushing her and nodding toward Ben, who was weaving his way toward them, a bright smile on his face. Annette arches a knowing eyebrow at Jim but says no more. Jim makes a show of tuning his fiddle as Ben reaches them. Ben leans down to press a kiss to Annette’s, and then Mary’s, cheeks.

“Happy Christmas Annette, Mary,” he shakes hands warmly with Alistair, “can I go hang up your coats?”

They hand over their heavy winter jackets and Ben bustles off with them. Annette turns to Jim, bemused smile playing over her lips.

“You didn’t tell him about the Wren Boys’ visit?”

“It’s meant to be a surprise,” Jim grins as he repositions his fiddle beneath his chin, “as likely he’s never experienced anything quite like the Wren Boys before.”

“I have no idea who they are this year. How did you contact them?”

“I just let it be known around the pub that if the Wren Boys wanted to show up at Rafter Street on the twenty-third, they’d find an audience.” Jim drew his bow across the strings a few times, satisfied with the sound. “Then yesterday I found a note slipped under the pub door saying that the Wren Boys accept my invitation.”

“How mysterious.” Mary hands Annette her guitar. “I hope their songs aren’t too bawdy, we’ll have the church upon us in an instant.”

“I think we’ll be able to suss them out fairly quickly,” Annette replies, “I mean, there’s so many people here, whoever’s missing is probably part of the Wren’s company tonight.”

“It’ll be fun to watch people try to guess.” Jim gathers the musicians in close. “What do you think about starting with that medley of The Ferrier’s Strathspey, Father John’s Reel, and then the Pigeon and the Post?”

The others agree. Jim nods to Mary and she quietly counts him into the song. Jim’s bow flashes over the strings in a tripping melody as Mary raps on the floor with her heel in measured beats. The piano jolts to life, Brian playing a halting rhythm in counterpoint to Jim, then Annette begins overlaying the guitar, picking out an equally complicated rhythm to match Jim’s.

As they settle into the song, Jim softens his fiddle, allowing the piano and guitar a chance to show off. Brian and Annette are exceptional musicians and they had been playing together for a long time - Jim enjoys listening to them as much as he does performing with them. With a brief nod from Alistar, Jim speeds up the tempo of the song again. Mary alters her dancing to match, adding flourishes and turns and she kept time with Jim, her footsteps acting as percussion for the song. She adds the occasional hand clap and high step as she twirls.

They transition effortlessly from the strathspey to the reel, and on to the waltz, with an ease borne of years of performing together. Mary’s percussive dancing urges them faster, Jim and Alistair saw away at their fiddles, competing to see who can play the more complicated rhythms. They chase each other to the end of the song, bows zipping quick-quick-slow over the strings until they finish with a flourish. Jim laughs and tips his bow to Alistair, acknowledging his expert playing.

A surreptitious glance at his pocket watch reveals that it is still too early for the Wren Boys’ to make their appearance, so Jim leans over to whisper his next song choice to Annette. She nods vigorously as she adjusts her guitar. Jim sets his fiddle aside and slipping his hands into his pockets, he clears his throat.

Annette begins to pick out a slow, stately rhythm. Jim takes a breath and begins, letting his clear tenor voice ring out over the room.

_At Boolavogue, as the sun was setting_   
_O’er the bright May meadows of Shelmalier_

He sings the stately ballad with as much sweetness as he can manage. The song was an old one, having been composed over fifty years ago, and but had fallen out of favour these days. Jim likes it because it tells the story of the rebellion in 1798 in which Enniscorthy had played a large role. The audience has fallen nearly silent as Jim and Annette pick their way through the song, some people tap their toes in time with Annette. Ben is paying close attention, not as well-versed as the others in the history of County Wexford. He gasps when the song tells of the fire that spurred the rebellion into action and then again when the brave leader Father Murphy is put to death.

As the song draws to a close, Annette lets the final note hang in the air as Jim’s voice soars brightly over the room. The assembled guests seem to draw a collective breath then, after a beat of silence, break out into appreciative, raucous applause. Jim nods, ducking his head to hide the faint blush that steals across his cheeks. He had never considered himself much of a singer, preferring to let the fiddle do the singing for him but he wouldn't deny that the appreciative audience sends a thrill down his spine.

Picking up his fiddle again, they launch into a much more jolly, uplifting song. The tune is a new one for Jim; he had been spending much of the autumn, after returning from Manhattan, learning it. He hopes to be able to play it for Ben’s cousin Rey when she and her new husband, Finn, visit in the springtime and as a gift to her, he wants to make sure he can perform it flawlessly.

The lively song seems to spur the crowd into action and they shuffle and jostle, setting down drinks and plates to better clap along with the song. Annette and Mary take the lead on the song and Mary’s bell-like voice rings out as Annette’s hands fly over the guitar strings, playing the tricky notes precisely. Jim joins in the singing of the chorus, his honeyed tenor voice a nice contrast to the women’s sweeter voices.

They repeat the chorus twice more, before slowing down the tempo and drawing out the notes, letting their voices swell to fill the room. Their voices fade for a second before Jim and Alistair pick the song back up, their bows flashing over the strings as they play brightly. Mary’s heels strike the floorboards lightly as she spins.

The song is sprightly and cheerful; Jim and Alistair’s fiddling is vivid and lustrous with quick, sharp movements. Jim grins at Ben in the doorway of the parlour; flushed with the energy of the crowd, Ben’s eyes are dark and glittering. The chatter from the crowd rises as a few brave souls join in the dancing.

As they hurtle to the end of the song, Jim and Alistair saw harder on their fiddles, pushing each other, to play faster, sharper. Annette eventually hands off her guitar and joins Mary in the dancing, she giggles as Mary grasps her hand and spins her in a circle. Brian’s hands flash over the piano keys and his knee jigs up and down, keeping time.

The song ends with a flourish as the crowd bursts into applause. Annette and Mary, panting slightly with the exertion of the dance, take a gallant bow. Mary leans over to Jim and whispers that she’s going to go search for a drink, he nods and she weaves her way through the room, smiling and laughing as people compliment her singing and dancing. The rest of them kick up a series of merry jigs and reels much to the revelers’ delight. Jim grins to see that Ben is finally drawn into the dancing; he towers over nearly everyone in the room and his enormous doe-eyes and halting footwork ensure that he’s swarmed with people wanting to help lead him through the steps.

They play through several songs until finally, Jim calls for a short break. Annette, Brian, and Alistar flee gratefully to the kitchen in search of drinks and food. Jim flexes and shakes out his hands, arches his back to work out any stiffness, then sits on the windowsill, sighing as the damp, night air washes over him. Ben disentangles himself from the crowd and approaches, a happy smile on his face and his hair tumbling out of its topknot. He sits beside Jim, letting their shoulders rub companionably together, and they observe the throng of people flowing in and out of the room.

“Are you having fun?”

Ben turns to look at Jim, eyes shining brilliantly. “So much fun. This isn’t like any Christmas party I’ve ever been too before.”

Jim smiles softly, a pleasant warmth spreading through his chest at how happy Ben is. He leans his forehead briefly against Ben’s shoulder before a commotion from outside draws his attention. He peers out the window to see a strange procession of costumed and masked figures making their way up the street. They’re all making an incredible amount of noise with their instruments save for the leader who is holding a totem aloft with a crudely carved wooden bird sitting in a nest of holly at the top.

The Wren Boys have finally arrived.

Alistair, Brian, Annette, and Mary have all filed back into the parlour, refreshed after having something to drink. They carry tumblers of whiskey, tea, or coffee, and Brian hands Jim a heavy, crystal glass filled with amber whiskey. Jim takes it with thanks and nods surreptitiously toward the window, not wanting to spoil the surprise for Ben just yet. Alistair and Annette share a grin as a three loud, booming knocks sound at the door. 

“Ben, would you mind answering the door?”

Ben regards Jim with a grin and a raised eyebrow, the odd energy of the group has tipped him off that something unusual is afoot, but bustles off to do Jim’s bidding, nonetheless. Before Ben can answer the door though, it flies open and the costumed company bursts in.

“What the-” Ben splutters as the oddly dressed figures march him past into the parlour.

Ben follows them into the room, eyes goggling trying to take in everything about the impertinent interlopers' appearance, questions plain upon his face when he looks to Jim. The newcomers are all decked out in outrageous costumes, designed to conceal their appearance. One fellow, dressed in a garish orange and green day dress, big clunky boots, and a fuzzy pink dressing gown, plays a sprightly tune on the concertina and the leader dances around the room in an odd shuffling manner. Jim admires the rest of their costumes, they had really outdone themselves this year. The leader, holding the totem with the wren and holly, has obviously padded his or her belly and rear with pillows to disguise their true shape. A bright yellow rain jacket, knotty woolen scarf, and topped off with a gray walking hat with a multitude of feathery plumes in the hat band, made the person difficult to identify. To increase the crowd’s inability to guess their identity, the leader’s face is also obscured by a bright orange mask in the shape of a fox. 

The rest of the company is similarly dressed in clashing colours and garish patterns, in shapeless clothing, hats and crowns, and masks - some shaped like animals, other simple strips of fabric with crude eye-holes cut into the fabric. One person has a beautiful veil of lace draped over their face and spilling down the front of their costume. The leader of the company wraps the end of the totem on the floor as the cacophony of noise from the instruments fades away focusing the crowd’s attention on themselves.

“We are the Wren Boys.” Fox-Face rasps out in a high, wheezing voice. “The wren, the wren, the king of all birds! Will you kindly give over money to the poor, starving wren?”

The fox raises the totem up, spinning around slowly in a circle so everyone has a chance to see the obviously fake, allegedly starving wren. Ben is utterly enchanted by the scene before him and unable to keep still, has wormed his way to the front of the crowd, eyes wide. 

“Not so fast,” Jim calls out boldly, ‘I believe you owe us a song and some riddles first.”

The leader claps their hands dramatically over their heart, stumbling back a pace. “You’re quite right,” they wheeze, “a riddle or a song for a drink, that’s the deal. We’ll start with something simple, you don’t look like the sharpest bunch we’ve ever encountered.”

The crowd laughs and jeers at the leader’s cheek. Jim leans back to rest against the windowsill, grinning at the determined look on Ben’s face - he was never one to back down from any kind of challenge.

“An easy one then.” The leader pauses dramatically. “Why is a raven like a writing desk?”

The gathered assembly is quiet as they begin to puzzle out the riddle. Jim buries his face in his hands and laughs at the affronted look on Ben’s face. Ben snorts.

“That’s too easy,” he scoffs loudly, “there’s actually no real answer.”

“Ahh, but that’s not the whole story is it?” The leader counters, dancing closer to Ben. “Isn’t it true that Carroll was forced to publish an answer later on when readers demanded closure?”

Ben nods.

“So what’s the real answer then, clever boy.”

“A raven is like a writing desk because it can produce a few notes, though they are very flat; and, it is never put with the wrong end in front.”

Ben looks smug as he crosses his arms across his chest. The crowd bursts into applause and the Wren Boys play a short fanfare on their instruments. Beside Jim, Annette giggles into her hands at Ben’s answer. Fox-Face claps Ben on the shoulder.

“Well done,” they squawk, “how about something more difficult, ‘cause you’re so smart.”

Ben nods, a sly grin stealing over his face. “Do your worst.”

Fox-Face whirls to the centre of the room and dramatically raps the end of the totem on the floor twice.

“Voiceless it cries, wingless flutters, toothless bites, and mouthless mutters. What am I?”

“I thought you said this would be hard.” Ben laughs. “It’s the wind - everyone’s read _The Hobbit_ , haven’t they?”

“I don’t know.” The fox-faced leader replies, casting a doubtful look around the room. “This group doesn’t look particularly well-read.” He laughs and dances a few steps further away from Ben as the crowd good-naturedly boos his statement. Setting his free hand on his hip, he points theatrically at Ben with the tote. “Alright, an old one then, you’re far too well-read for this company.”

“I’m waiting,” Ben responds cheekily, baiting the leader.

“As I was going to St. Ives, I met a man with seven wives. Each wife had seven sacks, each sack had seven cats, each cat had seven kits: Kits, cats, sacks, and wives. How many were there going to St. Ives?”

Ben falls silent, momentarily stumped by the riddle. Even Jim is flummoxed. He repeats the riddle quietly to himself, pondering over each line.

“Oh, one. _One!_ ” He cries loudly. “Only one person was going to St. Ives.”

The assembled crowd whoops and cheers, Ben looks proudly at him from across the room. The fox-faced leader visibly wilts as the rest of the Wren’s company play a somber little flourish.

“Well, it seems this lot is too smart for us, we’d best be on our way.”

Fox-Face looks as if he’ll slink away and out of the room when Annette loudly reminds him that they also promised some songs. Brightening, the leader whirls over to Annette and with big, showy gestures, bows before her and kisses her hand.

With a nod to the rest of the players, they strike up a jaunty song with Jim and his friends playing accompaniment. The song is a bawdy one, much to Mary’s consternation, about a sailor who falls in love with a mermaid but the tune is so sweet and light that it’s easy to overlook the slightly salacious lyrics.

Jim can’t help the silly grin that spreads across his face as he plays - Ben’s enjoyment of the evening is so palpable. A loud guffaw of laughter bubbles up from Ben at a particularly witty bit of the song. The fox-faced singer gambols around the parlour, singing the song still in that peculiar wheezing tone, slapping people on the shoulder, teasing them, and trying to entice the women to dance.

They all join in to sing the chorus and Jim strains to raise his voice above the commotion in the parlour, the room is so full of music and laughter. As the song draws to a close, Jim is completely wilted. The room is full of bodies and smells strongly of whiskey, the one open window isn’t nearly enough to provide refreshment. Even the rest of his friends look ready for a break - Annette’s hair is curling wildly around her head, there’s a distinct sheen of perspiration on Alistair and Brian’s face, Mary’s shoulders have started to droop.

“Well, now’s the moment of truth.” The masked leader gasps. “Can you name the members of the Wren’s company?”

One by one they are unmasked as the crowd makes their guesses. When the leader of the company is revealed to be Allan, Jim applauds heartily. He should have known, only Allan would make use of so many literary riddles. Allan whips off his hat and mask and takes a deep bow, smiling as people thump him on the back and congratulate him on a fine performance. He plunks his feathered walking hat on Ben’s head, acknowledging he was bested in the battle of wits. He elbows his way across the room, Ben in tow, to slip the fox mask over Jim’s face.

“Now,” he says, throwing his arm around Jim’s shoulders, “about that drink?”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Christmas Eve in the Farrell-Organa household. Jim's thoughts wander to the stash of gifts hiding upstairs for Ben - how will Ben react to Jim's most important gift? But before they get to the excitement of Christmas morning, there's still some memories to make on Christmas Eve night.

Jim and Ben sleep late the next morning. The last of their guests left in the small hours of the morning and by then, Jim’s voice was ragged from too much singing and socializing. As Jim closed the door upon the last straggler, Ben was right there, pressing a warm cup of tea with honey into his hands. Upstairs, they huddled together under the blankets whispering to each other their giddy plans for Christmas. Ben pressed kiss after kiss on Jim’s cheeks, neck, shoulders, anywhere he could reach, whispering his happiness into Jim’s skin.

Jim blinks sleepily awake, lifting his head to peer over Ben’s massive shoulder at the morning sun streaming in through the windows. He squints against the brightness, managing to catch a glimpse of the clear sky outside the window. Burrowing back down into the warm bedding, curled safely around Ben from behind, Jim smiles as he begins to drift off again. The clear cold morning potentially means snow and how lovely that would be for Christmas Eve. With a sigh, he pulls the blankets up around their shoulders, buries his face in Ben’s neck, and floats away into sleep.

Their lazy morning bleeds into an equally languid afternoon. They indulge in coffee and tea in bed, taking turns feeding each other bites of toast and jam, and reading the morning paper front to back. Jim revels in lolling about in bed, naked despite the slight chill in the air, it was a luxury they were seldom allowed with their busy lives.

Every Saturday morning should be this tender and easy-going Jim thinks as he skips up the stairs, carefully balancing a carafe of coffee and a plate of bread perfectly toasted to a golden brown and glistening with butter. He re-enters the bedroom, handing off the carafe to Ben’s waiting hands, and placing the plate of toast on his bedside table. Shucking off his green robe, Jim burrows beneath the blankets, greedy for the warmth of the bed and Ben’s arms. He pops up from the mound of blankets, brushing his mussed-up hair off his forehead. Ben smiles a lazy smile and pulls him closer so he can card his fingers through Jim’s silk-soft hair, combing it off his face. 

“More coffee?” Ben mouths a kiss on Jim’s bare, freckled shoulder.

“Please,” Jim replies as he reaches over for the plate of toast. He holds it out to Ben as they trade coffee mug for plate of toast.

They settle back against the headboard, leaning into each other. Ben slips his free arm around Jim’s shoulders, gathering him close. They finish their toast and coffee in comfortable silence, gazing idly out the large windows, only partially obscured by the heavy drapes. The windows are covered in a lattice of frost and beyond, the sky is a bold bright blue. Billowy white clouds are blowing in, however, suggesting a change in the weather.

Ben sets his empty mug on his bedside table with a heavy clatter then leans over to steals a large bite of Jim’s toast. He playfully swipes his tongue over his lips to catch the crumbs, then he nods toward the window.

“Do you think it will snow?”

“It looks like it might.” Jim set aside his mug and plate then insinuates himself firmly in Ben’s arms. “That would be nice seeing as how it’s Christmas Eve, snow would be appropriately festive.”

“Are you going to go to mass tonight?” Ben brushes a kiss to Jim’s temple as he nodded. “Do you have to get ready now?”

“No, not yet.” He grins up at Ben. “We still have some time.”

\----

Jim gathers his clothing for the evening - gray tweed trousers with a subtle herringbone pattern, crisp shirt in a pale yellow, and a soft, warm navy jumper - and sets them on the bed with a sigh. It’s taking nearly all of his willpower to get dressed and head out into the dark, damp night for Christmas Eve mass. He faithfully attends the services at St. Aidan’s every week partially out of habit and partially out of filial duty - after years of attending with his family, he knows his mother would be disappointed if he stopped attending. Besides, not attending church, well that just isn’t the done thing in Enniscorthy. Ben can escape the gossipy censure because he’s foreign and exotic and just so American, Jim sighs ruefully to himself in the wardrobe mirror as he slides the braces into place on his shoulders. Americans can do whatever they like, everyone knows that.

It’s not that Jim doesn’t believe. Of course, he does. _Of course._ It’s just so difficult to leave the warmth of the house when he knows that Ben is downstairs right now puttering around the kitchen gathering the ingredients for their Christmas Eve supper. It’s not so easy to leave the warmth of that smile on that most beloved face in favour of perching on a hard, uncomfortable pew in a drafty church, surrounded by the multitudes of sneezing, coughing worshippers. St. Aidan’s, he muses, was definitely not designed with his earthly comforts in mind. 

Jim tugs his navy jumper down over his head, slips his feet into his burnished brown oxfords. He trots down the long hallway to the washroom to fix his hair and finds Ben’s fancy amber-coloured bottle of hair oil on the counter alongside all their paraphernalia. Jim takes up the delicate bottle and unscrews the top, the alluring scent of bergamot and cloves washes over him from the open bottle. Jim pours a minuscule drop into his palm and rubs his hands together, then carefully works the thin sheen of oil through his locks. He takes his comb and neatly parts his hair on the left, sweeping it back from his forehead in a tidy swoop. Jim casts a final glance at himself in the mirror and decides he’s as pressed and presentable as he’s going to get for someone who spent the day lolling about in bed.

He enters the kitchen to find that Ben has arranged all the ingredients needed for supper on the kitchen table and is reading over the recipe card before beginning. Jim sidles up to him, slipping his arm around his waist.

“Anything amiss?”

“No,” Ben drawls, dragging out the ‘o’ sound, “this looks easy enough. Just chop everything up and throw it in the soup pot and simmer.”

“That’s it.” Jim presses a kiss to Ben’s shoulder. “Coddle is a pretty straightforward dish.”

“It’s bound to hit the spot on a chilly night like tonight.” Ben smiles over at Jim. “You look very handsome by the way.”

Jim hugs Ben tighter to his side, lifting his face for a kiss. Ben obliges with a mostly-chaste kiss, his lips parted just enough to plant ideas in Jim’s head.

“Mmm,” Jim hums, chasing Ben’s lips, “you taste like whiskey.”

Ben reaches behind a pile of carrots, parsnips, onions, and potatoes to retrieve a lowball glass with a dollop of honey-brown liquid in it and hands it to Jim. He swirls the liquid in the glass to release the heady fragrance then takes a small sip. 

“Oh, the Green Spot,” he licks his lips, “good choice for tonight.”

Jim hands the glass back to Ben, who sets it down safely out of the way. “Yes, I thought so. It’ll keep you warm while you’re at mass.”

Jim entwins his hand with Ben’s, tugging him along as he heads toward the door. “You’ll be alright here, preparing dinner and everything.”

“Of course,” Ben squeezes Jim’s hand, “it’s all under control. How long will the service be?”

“An hour,” Jim replies, slipping his arms into the warm jacket that Ben held out for him. “I should be back a little after eight.”

“I’ll look for you.” Ben smiles as he flings Jim’s soft gray scarf around his neck and uses it to reel him in for another kiss. “I can’t believe tomorrow’s Christmas Day, already!”

“Believe it.” Jim giggles, “I’m just glad the pub will be closed until Epiphany, it’ll be nice to have a break.”

Ben brushes another gentle kiss to Jim’s smiling mouth then walks him back toward the door.

“Hurry back.”

“I will.”

\----

Delicate, gauzy snow starts to fall during Jim’s drive home. The fluffy snowflakes collect in the branches of the trees and hedges that line the sides of the road; they swirl a tempest across the road, glittering in the headlights of the car and in the yellow light of the street lamps. By the time Jim arrives home and has parked, the snow is falling faster and it clings to his eyelashes and the rough wool of his coat as he dashes from the car to the door. As he thumps up the steps, Ben flings the door wide, the lights from the hallway illuminating his path home in the blue-black night. Jim grins up at him as he hurries inside. Ben closes the door tightly behind him, locks it, and then draws the heavy curtain across to keep out the draughts.

Now snugly ensconced in the parlour with the fire crackling and spitting behind the screen, the tree illuminated, the curtains drawn and the candles aglow, memories of the Christmas Eve service are already fading from behind Jim’s eyes. They had pushed the sofa in front of the fireplace, and now they were sat in front of it, backs resting against the soft upholstery, sock feet extended toward the warmth of the fire.

Ben’s first attempt at Irish coddle is a smashing success. The creamy soup is rich and flavorful and packed full of vegetables. They share a small loaf of crusty, warm bread - acquired earlier in the day from Sheridan’s - as well as glasses of whiskey and tea.

Jim wriggles his toes in delight, enjoying the warm fire and Ben’s solid, reassuring presence. Never had such a simple meal brought him this much joy. Somewhere along the line, he must have done something good to deserve this much happiness, or some Saint finally took pity on him and bestowed upon him this abundance. He pulls his knees up to his chest and balances his glass upon them. The house is quiet save for the fire and the small noises Ben makes as he rummages around in a cabinet in his study. Jim drains the glass of whiskey and sets it down beside him. Burying his face in his knees, he nearly bursts out laughing from the sheer weight of how his life has been blessed.

Ben’s heavy tread echoes in the hallway, and an instant later, he plunks himself down beside Jim, a box of checkers and a deck of cards under one arm. He smiles bemusedly at Jim’s giddy laugh and sloppy kisses.

“Are you alright?’

“I’m good,” Jim mumbles into Ben’s neck, “perfect, in fact. Never better.” His head spins a little as he sits back. “But maybe I’ve had enough whiskey for tonight.”

Ben smooths his hair back from his forehead and dots a kiss to the tip of his nose before bouncing up again and heading back to the kitchen. He returns shortly with a tray ladened with the teapot, sugar, two brimming glasses of water, and a plate of Christmas cake. Jim groans his thanks as he dives for the tea and cake. Dunking the moist, fruit-filled cake into the tea, he takes a huge satisfying bite, humming his pleasure. He takes another piece, immerses it in the tea, and holds it out for Ben. Ben leans forward to take a delicate bite, making sure he fastidiously licks the excess crumbs and sugar from Jim’s fingertips.

Ben grins as sits back and he takes a demure sip of his tea, eyes dancing over the lip of the cup as he watches Jim watch him. He sets his cup down with a quiet clink then reaches for the box of checkers and the deck of cards, holding them up for Jim’s perusal.

“Which do you want to play? Cards, or checkers?”

Jim finishes his piece of cake, licking his fingers. “Ah, cards I think, to start with. Do you know how to play Gin?”

“No, I’m not usually one for cards.” He replies, as he sets aside the checkers and takes out the cards. He expertly shuffles the deck, cutting and re-shuffling the cards together so quickly that they blur in his hands. “Go Fish is about my speed.”

“Yes, I’m sure Go Fish is the only card game you know,” Jim responds dryly as Ben’s nimble hands speedily deal out seven cards to each of them.

“Why Jim, you sound as if you don’t believe me.” Ben laughs as he places the deck face down between them, flipping over the top card to reveal the king of hearts.

“Well considering that I haven’t even explained the rules of Gin yet, you’ve managed to set us up exactly right.”

Ben gathers his cards, fanning them out in front of his face. He reorders them in his hand then flutters his eyelashes coquettishly at Jim from behind the spread of cards. 

“Do you want to make this interesting?” He grins.

Jim sweeps his cards up from the floor and glares at them - someone has either done a very good job shuffling or a very poor job because the deck is stacked in such a way that he can do absolutely nothing with the cards in hand. 

“What did you have in mind?”

“Something easy to start with.” Ben pretends to think. “How about, the loser has to get the next round of tea and Christmas cake.”

Jim snorts. “That’s the softest bet I’ve ever made. You’re absolutely on.”

\----

“King me.”

“Oh blast, this is the fourth time you’ve won.” Jim grouses good-naturedly as he places a red piece atop Ben’s winning chip. “How are you so good at these games?”

“Well, I didn’t come by it honestly,” Ben rolls his eyes dolefully, “Han was a sometimes grifter when he was young, and we since spent nearly every summer in the Catskills, there wasn’t usually a lot to do beyond card games and swimming.”

“Knowing Leia as I do, I’m going to assume that didn’t go over well.” Jim laughs as he gathers up the game pieces and tips them back into the box.

“You better believe it didn’t.” Ben folds the board up and places it back in the box, sliding the lid into place. He laughs. “But, it wasn’t all bad. All those summers playing cards then living the life in California turned me into the handsome rogue you see before you.”

“You can’t give yourself your own nickname, that’s my job.” Jim whispers as he shuffles closer for a kiss.

Ben sighs softly as he gathers Jim closer, capturing his mouth in a tea-sweetened kiss. The tall standing clock in the hallway chimes the hour and Jim leans back from Ben as the twelfth bell rings.

“It’s midnight.” He whispers into Ben’s neck. “Nollaig shona dhuit, Ben Organa.”

“Nollaig shona dhuit to you,” Ben gently cups Jim’s chin and tilts his face up for a kiss. “Shall we go upstairs.”

Jim nods. They push aside the checkers box and help each other up. As Ben sees to the fire, Jim heaves the sofa back into place along the wall and then gathers up their discarded tea cups, plates, and glasses onto the tray and takes it all to the kitchen. He sets everything in the sink to be dealt with in the morning, snapping off the lights as he leaves the kitchen.

He meets Ben coming out of the parlour. Behind him, the fire is banked for the night, candles extinguished, and the fairy lights on the tree turned off. The house is plunged into darkness as they turn off lights as they head upstairs, hand in hand.

\----

Washing up complete, they tumble back into bed with pink, fresh-scrubbed cheeks and the ends of their hair curling damply around their faces. Ben curls into Jim’s side as Jim tangles their legs together. After a few jaw-cracking yawns, they both begin to drift off. Jim settles himself more comfortably on the pillow but he can’t help stirring when his thoughts fly unbidden to the lovingly wrapped flat box hiding in the bottom of the wardrobe. The box holds his most precious gift to Ben, the one to be saved for last, and Jim’s stomach flutters with delight, and nerves, thinking of Ben’s reaction upon opening it.

Ben senses his wakefulness. He curls himself closer, wrapping his arm tighter around Jim as if to anchor them both. He mouths a sleepy kiss on Jim’s belly before drifting back into slumber. Jim smiles up at the ceiling as he cards his fingers through Ben’s soft hair. He tries to will himself to sleep, the sooner he’s asleep, the sooner the morning will come and Ben can open his gifts, but every creak and groan of the house settling, every patter of bare branches against the windows on each gust of wind, every cry of night-time birds, rouses him. He finally falls asleep as the clock downstairs strikes one and beyond the bedroom drapes, the snow continues to gently blanket the garden, gilding everything in silver.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas Day has finally arrived in the Farrell-Organa household and Jim is too excited to start the gift-giving to sleep any longer. How will Ben react to Jim's present? What will Ben gift to Jim??

Jim comes awake on Christmas morning to a stillness so complete that for one dizzying minute, he wonders if he and Ben are the only people left in the world. Through the gap in the drapes, he can see that it snowed heavily overnight, and the subdued light pouring in through the curtains is grey, muted, and soft. None of the usual early morning sounds echo through the windows - no cars on the street, no voices from neighbours across the way, no birds. If he strains his ears, he can just make out the distant sound of the waves crashing upon Curracloe Beach, but even the ocean seems gentled this morning. 

His hands automatically find their way into Ben’s tangled locks. He cards his fingers through Ben’s rich brown hair, twirling the strands around his fingers watching as they curl around his slim fingers and tumble down to coil around Ben’s ears. He gently brushes the pad of his thumb along the shell of Ben’s ear letting his hand settle in the curve of Ben’s neck.

Ben’s breathing stutters as he rolls away from Jim to arch into a deep stretch, arms snaking up over his head to grasp at the headboard. He flexes and stretches his toes as he works the kinks out of his legs after sleeping so long curled in one position at Jim’s side. He relaxes back against the soft bedding, hands clasped over his stomach, tipping his head back to regard Jim with sleepy eyes. He smiles softly. Jim props himself up on his elbow, reaching out to brush the riot of curls from Ben’s forehead.

“Merry Christmas.” He smiles when Ben captures his retreating hand to presses it to his lips.

“Merry Christmas yourself.” He kisses the tips of Jim’s fingers then pauses, listening. “It’s very quiet out this morning.”

“It snowed quite a bit last night.” Jim slides his fingers out of Ben’s grip and down his arm to press lightly against his chest. He feels the gentle, steady pulse of Ben’s heart in his fingertips, so strong and reassuring. He leans down to mouth a dainty kiss on the sleep-warmed skin of Ben’s chest, then insinuates himself into Ben’s arms. “I suppose the fresh snow is inspiring a certain sort of peace and serenity. How appropriate for the day.”

Ben hums softly as he gathers Jim more firmly to himself, one hand slipping down to rest protectively on his rump. “It’s nice, relaxing.”

They’re quiet then, enjoying the stillness of the morning even as the old house creaks and groans in the wind and the thin single-pane glass in the windows rattles during a particularly strong gust. Ben pulls the blankets up around their shoulders, snugly cocooning them in warmth. Jim inhales; he loves the way their scents mingle in the fabric of the bedding - Ben’s bergamot, the more neutral botanical scent of Jim’s soap, and the clean linen scent of the sheet - it has a rather soporific effect on him and his eyelids droop as he starts to slip back into a light sleep. His stomach chooses that tranquil moment to rumble loudly and insistently. Ben snorts.

“Time for breakfast?”

Jim smothers a laugh against Ben’s shoulder. “Maybe presents first? What do you think?”

“How about coffee, then presents?” Ben rolls them over to settle between Jim’s legs then drops a kiss to Jim’s lips. “I’ll get the presents and you do the coffee?”

Jim nods as Ben slithers off him. He plucks Jim’s green robe from the bedpost and holds it open for him. Jim turns, presenting his back to Ben so he can slip the robe over his shoulders. Jim wraps the sash tightly around his narrow waist as he steps to the door and retrieves Ben’s garish plaid robe from the hook. He remembers when Ben purchased the flannel nightmare, a mess of red, orange, and yellow stripes crisscrossing the olive green material, that no self-respecting person would buy, much less wear. _But Jim, it’s the Organa family tartan_ , Ben teased holding up the cream-coloured price tag, _it says so right here_. Jim seriously doubted the tartan had a shred of historical accuracy but Ben would not be swayed and so the ugly robe came to live in the bedroom alongside Jim’s more respectable green robe with the black piping around the cuffs - he would never admit to anyone that he sometimes wore the fuzzy thing when Ben was away for the night.

They descend the stairs together, Ben heading to the parlour to stoke the fire and gather up the gifts from beneath the tree, and Jim to the kitchen for coffee and scones. As the coffee percolates, he gazes out the wide kitchen window at the snow-covered garden. Little animal tracks dash across the flat expanse of white as the hedges droop low under the weight of all the snow. The early morning light reflects off the snow making the garden sparkle like shattered glass and the shadows cast by the skeletal branches of the tall trees create a filigree of blue-grey shadows on the undisturbed patches of snow. Maybe an afternoon walk down to the beach is in order, Jim thinks as he touches his fingertips to the icy window, the day is too beautiful to spend entirely inside and it seems cold enough that the snow may stay on the ground for a few days at least.

The kettle ceases its burbling so Jim takes the carafe of coffee and loads it onto the tray with the mugs and food. Ben has already disappeared upstairs leaving behind a cheerful fire in the grate and a tree barren of gifts. He re-enters the bedroom to find Ben once more perched amongst the mounds of blankets, all the brightly-wrapped packages stacked at one end of the bed. He hands over the tray and then lets the robe fall from his shoulders and cascade to the ground. He crawls back into bed, pulling the blankets up around his hips, it’s still too chilly in the house to go completely uncovered as the warmth of the fire has yet to rise to the second floor of the house. 

Jim takes several scalding gulps of his coffee, belying his eagerness to get to the gifts. Ben grins at him around a mouthful of scone with strawberry preserves. Finishing the pastry in two huge bites, he moves the tray over to the top of the bureau. He snuggles back into bed, fitting himself to Jim’s side.

“Okay, which one do you want first?”

“Not this one,” Jim grabs the long, flat box and slips it beneath his pillow, “that’s for the end.”

Ben raises a curious eyebrow as the box disappears from sight but doesn’t argue. He selects a rectangular present from the pile, that is obviously a book of some sort, and hands it to Jim with a flourish.

“You go first.”

Jim grins as he eagerly splits the sellotape holding the paper down. He pulls the green and red striped paper away to reveal three books - two mystery novels by an author he loves, and a book of poetry. He leans forward to peck Ben on the lips.

“Thank you, but how did you know I wanted this one?” He says, holding up the slim volume of poetry.

“Because I know you’re a hopeless romantic at heart, and I saw your longing looks when we were in the bookstore last month.” Ben preens, pleased with himself. “I went back to get it the very next day after school was out, I’ve been hiding it in here the whole time.”

A soft smile ghosts over Jim’s face as he pages through the slim volume. The spine creaks as he opens the book wide to the middle and presses it to his face to smell the ink and glue of the bindings - the familiar smell reminds him of all the companionable nights they spend reading to each other before sleep. Once they finish reading the _Dawn Treader_ , they’ll have to start on the poems.

He sets the books aside and selects a present for Ben. A beautiful new fountain pen is followed by fancy jams and honey, by finely tailored shirts and ties, candies, and chocolates, until Ben presents Jim with an expensive and luxurious new jumper, finely woven and soft, and in a deep burgundy. Jim rubs the plush wool against his cheek, pleased with the gift. The colour is deep and rich, not one he'd normally pick out for himself.

With the gift of the jumper, Jim senses that they are now giving each other their more precious gifts so he plucks a small square box from the dwindling pile of presents and shyly presses it into Ben’s hands. Ben carefully tears away the decorative cranberry-coloured paper with white ribbons to reveal a black matte box. He opens the lid and gasps, his eyes flying to Jim’s. He gently removes the burnished silver pocket watch holding it up to the light. The front has the numbers engraved in Roman numerals and the detailing along the edge is a whorl of never-ending Celtic knots. Ben turns the watch over, eyes instantly becoming misty as he reads the short inscription there - _Curracloe September 1950_. With great care, he resettles the antique watch in its nest of velvet and sets the box aside so that he can shuffle over to Jim and wrap him in a tight embrace.

“Thank you,” he whispers against Jim’s mouth, “it’s lovely, the finest thing I own.”

“You’re welcome of course, but are you okay? You’re shaking.”

Jim cups Ben’s cheeks and looks up into his eyes with some concern. Ben smiles a watery smile, leaning into Jim’s touch. “It’s nothing, I’m fine.”

He knuckles away the dampness from the corners of his eyes as he twists in Jim’s lap, glancing toward the end of the bed in search of any remaining gifts. Seeing that they’ve opened all the brightly wrapped presents, Ben starts to shuffle backward off Jim’s lap, reaching towards his pillows, but he’s stayed by Jim’s gentle touch to his elbow. Jim slides the flat box out from beneath the pillows and holds it out for Ben.

Jim clutches the blankets to his chest as his world narrows down to the slow, deft motions of Ben’s hands as he slides his fingertips along the seam of the paper, breaking the ribbon of tape. Jim watches, wide-eyed, as Ben slowly - oh so slowly - removes the blue and white paper and sets it aside. His breathing sounds unnaturally loud and harsh to his ear and his heart pounds so hard that he feels momentarily faint when, after a seeming eon, Ben finally removes the lid. 

Ben glances up at him with a quizzical smile as he takes the thick fold of papers out of the box. The paper is a heavy, expensive cream, and as Ben unfolds the pages, Jim catches a glimpse of the elegant script at the top of the first page, and the vivid crimson seal of the notary at the bottom.

_Land Registry Office - Title Deed_

Ben sucks in a sharp breath, snapping his wide eyes up to meet Jim’s.

“Jim,” he whispers, voice trembling over Jim’s name, “is this-”

“Yes.” Jim’s voice comes out high-pitched and tight. “You just have to sign the last page and then this house will belong to the both of us-” he plucks at a loose thread in the crush of blankets at his chest- “if you want that, I mean.”

Ben sets the deed back in the nest of tissue paper. With great care, he gently runs his fingers down the fold of the paper, pressing it to lie flat in the box. Crawling up over the blankets, he seats himself more firmly in Jim’s lap, his hands gently cup Jim’s face as he leans his forehead against Jim’s. Ben’s eyes drift closed as he exhales a slightly shaky breath. Jim skates his hands up Ben’s back, urging him to wriggle closer. Ben sighs, pulling back to gaze at Jim, emotions raw upon his face.

“Of course I do, Jim, of course.” He pauses, leaning down to press an urgent kiss to Jim’s lips. “I love our life together, I love you, and I love this house, and the fact that you would-” he breaks off to cover Jim’s face with sloppy kisses. Jim giggles. “-I’ve been searching for home my whole life, and I’ve finally found it, here with you in Enniscorthy.”

Jim stokes his hands down Ben’s back to clutch at his hips, rubbing soothing circles into the sensitive skin there with his thumbs. He sighs into Ben’s kiss.

“You’re home, Ben, you are home.” He croons over and over against Ben’s mouth, sliding his clever hands lower, curving them around Ben’s plush backside to gather him closer. “You’re home.”

“I am.” Ben murmurs. He pushes back into Jim’s hands. “Ah, don’t stop, that feels nice.”

Jim squeezes softly, smiling as Ben gasps.

“So you like it then?”

Ben groans. “Yes, both what you’re doing with your hands, and the gift.” He breathes a throaty sigh, rolling his hips in tight circles. “Where’s my new fountain pen, I’ll sign right now.”

Jim stops his rhythmic movements but keeps his hands firmly in place on Ben’s rump. “I think you put it over there.” He motions to the bedside table with his chin, heavy-lidded gaze never wavering from Ben's flushed, smiling face.

“Too far away, I can’t bring myself to leave your arms for even a second.”

Jim sighs as leans back into the mound of pillows letting his gaze flutter over Ben’s face. Backlit by the cheerful morning light, Ben is resplendent. The warm light lends his winter-pale skin a burnished, ruddy glow and the light filters through his tangled hair, now hastily tucked behind his ears, to pick out strands of auburn and red in the dark brown locks. Best of all though, is the happy smile adorning his face.

“For me, everything shifted into place when I met you.” Jim, suddenly serious as he reaches up to Ben’s hands where they rest on his chest. Twinning their fingers together, he raises their joined hands to his lips to mouth delicate kisses across Ben’s knuckles. “And when you finally came back to stay, it was like everything I ever wanted in the world finally came home. The way you make this house a home, it’s as much yours as it is mine.”

“Jim, I don’t know what to say. You’ve given me everything.” Ben untangles his hand so he can card his fingers through Jim’s hair and down to cup his face. “I need to give you my last gift, it’s important, may I?”

Jim nods and Ben reaches across the bedding to fish a small, square box from beneath his pillow. He grins when a quiet laugh bubbles up from Jim at their matching hiding places. He eagerly presses the tiny gift into Jim’s hands and sits back, settling himself comfortably in Jim’s lap. Jim smiles down at the little box, he rattles it but hears nothing. He glances up to see Ben watching him avidly, full bottom lip caught between his teeth. Jim tears away the paper to reveal a small, black box. Flipping open the lid with a groaning creak, he reveals a narrow, antique gold band with a suggestion of a pattern inscribed around the outside.

“Oh.” he whispers faintly as he carefully takes the ring out of its velvet setting. “Ben, this is beautiful.”

“It was my grandfather’s wedding band, I asked Padme for it last time I was in Dublin.”

“Your grandfather’s ring.” Jim runs his fingertip around the band, feeling the etchings on the outside of the ring. “You’re giving it to me.”

“Read the inscription.”

Jim holds the delicate band closer to his face to better read the tiny, elegant script around the inside of the ring.

_Curracloe September 1950_

Jim’s heart leaps and a tremor runs through his body when he sees that they’ve both chosen identical inscriptions for their important gifts. He swallows around the sudden lump in his throat as he gazes down at the rustic gold band, turning it over and over in his hands. Ben slides his finger beneath Jim’s chin to gently tilt his face up to his.

“Do you like it?”

Jim lets out a shuddery breath as the weight of the love and fidelity the ring represents settles around him like a warm blanket. He nods.

“I love it. It’s perfect.” He holds the ring out to Ben. “Would you put it on me?”

Ben takes the ring and slips it on to Jim’s finger. The gold band comes to rest comfortably at the base of Jim’s ring finger. Jim gazes down at his slim hand entwined with Ben’s, the light catches the edge of the ring, gleaming.

“You… this-this is forever, right?” He looks up at Ben, “I won’t want anyone but you for the rest of my life.”

“It’s forever.” Ben confirms. “This is my promise to you: to love and honour you all the days of our lives.”

He reaches down to cup Jim’s face, brushing away a few tears that have sprung into Jim’s eyes and trickled down his cheeks with his thumb.

“You’ll love me when I’m old and gray and can no longer play the fiddle?”

“I’ll love you twice, three times as much.”

“And what about if I want to sell the house and pub and move to Paris?”

“Even then. Wherever you go, I’m home.” Ben lifts Jim’s hand to his lips and places a delicate kiss to the ring, sealing their promises. “What about you - how long will you love me?”

“For the rest of my life, and then forever after.”

Ben whimpers quietly and dives down to wrap his arms around Jim, rolling them onto their sides. He flings the blankets up and over their heads, cocooning them in warmth and love, and as they settle together everything falls away and Jim’s senses narrow down to just the sensations of warm skin pressed up against warm skin, Ben’s long lush eyelashes brushing gently against his neck, and the soft fabric of the bedding. And for a time, they really are the only two people in the world.


End file.
